


Family Protects Each Other

by supercasey



Series: Team Fortress 2 One-Shots [3]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Kids, Brother-Brother Relationship, Brother-Sibling Relationship, Canon Non-Binary Character, Car Accidents, Carjacking, Found Family, Gen, Hijacking, Kid!Scout AU, Non-Binary Pyro, Non-Verbal Pyro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercasey/pseuds/supercasey
Summary: TF2 Kid!Scout AU. How Sniper, Pyro, and Soldier ended up at Reliable Excavation Demolition… it’s not easy, taking care of everyone else, but after what he’s been through, Mundy is never going to let himself or his siblings be hurt by careless adults again, even if it means sacrificing his own happiness. But who knows? Perhaps he’ll learn that not EVERY adult is out to hurt him. But that’s impossible… right?
Relationships: Pyro & Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Pyro & Soldier (Team Fortress2), Soldier & Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Series: Team Fortress 2 One-Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689592
Comments: 59
Kudos: 74





	1. Carjacking and Canned Goods

**Author's Note:**

> Told y’all that I’d be back soon with this AU again (actually, did I even say that??? It was implied, I think) so here I am!!! Time to go off about Sniper, Pyro, and Soldier, because I fucking love these crazy kids. Please enjoy!

It’s well after dark in Headmaster Michael’s Detention Center for Disobedient Boys, and Mundy knows all too well that being out of bed this late at night is just  _ asking  _ for trouble, but… well, he can’t leave Bonito to suffer alone after what happened today. In his opinion, his friend didn’t even do anything  _ wrong-  _ just brought his stuffed unicorn to class with him- but after Headmaster Michael saw it… well, it was tossed into the oven in no time, and Bonito was promptly punished for crying over their destroyed plushie. Mundy had been tempted to give the headmaster a piece of mind right then and there, maybe punch him in the cock for being such an asshole, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good, especially if he wanted to be well enough for what he was preparing to do tonight. Quietly, the Australian boy tiptoes towards Bonito’s bedroom, careful to duck into closets and around corners anytime he hears footsteps, but soon enough, he finds himself in front Bonnie’s room, and with all the stealthiness of a trained ninja, he opens the door and scuttles inside without making so much as a squeak.

Mundy let’s out a sigh of relief once he’s inside, and not for the first time, he’s infinitely grateful that Bonito has their own room, as their old roommate was taken out of the school just a few weeks ago. Once he’s regained his bearings, Mundy searches the room for his best friend, when his heart freezes in his chest, eyes wide with horror. Where the walls around Bonito’s bunk bed were once covered in unicorn and Barbie posters, there are just the shredded remains of said posters, as if a bear came and clawed at the walls looking for honey. In the posters’ place, someone used spraypaint to graffiti the walls with homophobic slurs and insults, taunting Bonito for being fond of more feminine things like stuffed animals and dolls. If that weren’t heartbreaking enough, Mundy soon finds his friend in the rubble of the mess, the other child hidden underneath a makeshift blanket fort, the soft sound of mournful sobs able to be heard from their piss-poor hiding spot. Swallowing around a lump in his throat, Mundy shuffles closer, wanting to go after whoever did this to his friend, but he needs to make sure Bonito is okay before he does anything too rash.

“‘Ello, Bonnie,” Mundy whispers, his movements careful as he tries to get the other kid’s attention. “You a’ight, mate? Well, I know ya ain’t, but… aw, Bon, come ‘ere.” Quickly, he crawls into the blanket fort, intent on comforting his best friend.

Bonito is curled into a ball in their blanket fort, their knees drawn against their chest as they cry their eyes out. However, once Mundy comes towards them, they leap forward, hugging the Australian boy with all their might. “Easy, Bonnie,  _ easy…  _ I ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear? What on earth happened in ‘ere, mate? It looks like a mongrel went ‘n tore the place ta shreds!”

Bonito cries a little longer, before they finally take out a notepad from their desk, it being their only way to communicate with Mundy due to being more or less mute. “[Headmaster Michael decided to look through my room for anything else that might be too “queer”… he saw my posters and ripped ‘em up, then beat me for being gay.  _ Again. _ I don’t think I can do this anymore, Mundy… it’s just too much.]”

Mundy nods as he reads the letter, before giving Bonito another tight, loving hug. “I know, Bonnie, I know… she’ll be apples someday, I promise,” He then sighs, a bit hesitant, but really, it’s his and Bonito’s only choice if they don’t want to keep suffering in this shithole. “Look, mate, I’ve got a crazy bloody idea ‘ere… you don’t gotta come wid me, ‘cus if we get caught, we’re as good as dead, but I don’t wanna see you gettin’ hurt no more either, Roo.”

Bonito responds quickly, shoving the paper in Mundy’s face once they’re done. “[Whatever it is, I’m in; I would follow you anywhere, Mundy.]”

Mundy chuckles, ruffling Bonito’s short, scraggly hair. “I know ya would, ya cobber… now come on, we gotta be quiet if we’re gonna escape, a’ight? Just do everythin’ I say, ‘n we’ll be oughta ‘ere faster den two dingos on a baby!”

Bonito’s shoulders bounce in a slight laugh, before they nod in agreement, more than happy to follow Mundy’s orders. The boy nods, taking his friend’s hand in his as they exit the blanket fort together. In silence, the duo untangles the fort, before the Australian begins tying the blankets together to make a long, sturdy rope, all while Bonito shuffles around their small bedroom, stuffing their and Mundy’s backpacks with extra clothes and a few provisions they’ve been stockpiling over the past few weeks. In all honesty, Mundy and Bonito have been planning this escape ever since they became friends a little over a year ago, and while the more talkative of the two intended on gathering more supplies before they escaped, after today’s altercation with the headmaster, he can’t spend one more night in this hell, and neither can his best friend. Once the makeshift rope has been completed, Bonito has finally finished packing their bags, and with Mundy by their side, they go with him out the window, using the blanket rope to climb down more carefully, which is made easier since the younger preteen tied the rope around one of Bonito’s bedposts.

The minute their feet hit the ground, the kids take off running for the faculty parking lot, careful not to be spotted by the building’s spotlights or armed guards. Mundy leads the way there, knowing exactly which vehicle he plans on hijacking; Mr. King’s luxurious RV, which he usually takes for hunting trips further up north. He finds it in no time, and using the car keys he stole off the teacher at lunch, he unlocks the door and leads Bonito inside, relieved to see that Mr. King didn’t somehow get in here to crash overnight. It’s now that the anxiety truly sets in for Mundy, as up until this point, his plan has been pretty damn solid, but now that he’s made it into the RV without so much as a hiccup in his plan, it’s only now that it occurs to him that not only is he terrified to get behind the wheel for the first time since the accident, but the gates to the school are locked down for the night. Shaking with fear, Mundy forces himself to ignore his hesitation, as there’s no going back from this, not when the school’s guards have surely found the blanket rope by now. As if on cue, an alarm begins blaring from the school, causing both Mundy and Bonito to jump in surprise, the Australian taking it a step further by cursing aloud.

“Bloody hell, we’re runnin’ outta time!” Mundy says, climbing into the driver’s seat, but to his dismay, he’s too short to reach the pedals.  _ “Fuck!  _ Bonnie, I need ya help!” He shouts over his shoulder to Bonito, the older teen flinching at the sound.

Bonito shakes their head though, snapping out of it no time. Without a second thought, they climb into the spot at Mundy’s feet, working the pedals for their friend. “Good on ya, mate!” Mundy praises, grinning at Bonnie as he prepares himself for what must be done. “Now, when I say left or right, you gotta hit those pedals, a’ight? Don’t worry, you’ll do a great job, Roo!”

With that settled, Mundy begins giving Bonito instructions, the two working together to back up the RV, turn left, and begin driving towards the school gates. Due to the alarm being rung, the gates are now open, as police will be arriving shortly to help search for the missing kids. This is all too convenient for Mundy and Bonito, as without slowing down, they smash through the security bar and take off, swerving to the right even as a security guard that had been manning the gate screams for them to stop. The duo drives off into the night, not stopping for so much as a stoplight, which thankfully isn’t common during the early parts of their drive, as the detention center is located in the ass end of nowhere, making it all that much easier to get away, as there are a few weird turns and roads Mundy drives onto, intent on losing the cops by making unexpected decisions. As if by magic, he doesn’t hear a single siren for most of the drive, having only faintly heard them while he and his best friend were just breaking out. Nonetheless, only when it’s dawn does he park at a more or less empty gas station, taking some time to take care of the RV’s most identifying markers.

While he’s doing this, Bonito pulls on an oversized sweater from the RV, as well as Mr. King’s sunglasses, and heads into the gas station to get more food, as bread, crackers, and a few small water bottles won’t be nearly enough to last them until they make it to the Mundy family home all the way down in Arizona. Mundy considers telling Bonito to not go inside the store, as the older kid’s disguise isn’t exactly great, but he seriously doubts news has reached this desolate gas station yet. Instead, the Australian works diligently with his pocket knife, wincing at the sound as he scraps off the RV’s bumper stickers, if only so he can better disguise the stolen vehicle. Mundy also goes as far as to remove the RV’s license plate, which he replaces with one he stole from Ohio a few months before he was forced into that damned detention center; once again, he’s glad no one confiscated it when he was arrested, or even checked his backpack when he was shoved onto the bus that would take him to the detention center. Mundy sighs under his breath at that, hoping to god that he and his friend don’t get caught, because if they do, there’ll be  _ much  _ worse waiting for them than the headmaster’s cane. By the time he’s finally done scratching off the stickers, Bonito comes back from the gas station’s store, carrying a paper bag in their hands.

“Whatcha got, mate?” Mundy asks, rubbing off his sweaty brow before he peeks into the large brown bag, inspecting Bonito’s supplies. “A few cans ‘a peanuts, a couple water bottles, a few granola bars, some soup… that’s a real beauty, Roo; these’ll last us awhile!” He praises, proud of his friend’s choice in supplies.

Bonito grins at this, bouncing in place with joy. “How ‘bout we hit the road, aye? Plenty ‘a ground ta cover.” Mundy suggests, angling Bonito back into the RV. The older kid doesn’t even hesitate, because as they told their friend before, they’ll follow Mundy anywhere.

* * *

Mundy knows that he oughta start this story from the beginning- maybe on the day that his birth parents gave him away as an infant, with only a stuffed horse and a written apology to remember them by- but he can’t remember that far back, so he contemplates on what he  _ does  _ recall. For as long as Mundy can remember, he’s been in the foster care system. When he was about three years old, the woman he’d been staying with- his aunt, he’s been told- gave him up for adoption, on the grounds that his birth parents had claimed they were coming back for him soon, only to never show up to claim him. As luck would have it, his aunt was living in the USA at the time, so Mundy was forced into  _ their  _ foster care system, making him a bit of an oddball wherever he went. In every house, kids would tease him for his “weird accent” and “funny way of saying things”, which almost always ended in whoever was bullying him to get some teeth knocked out. Because of all the teasing and struggles, it wasn’t long before Mundy began running away from his foster homes, going as long as a few months before he would eventually get caught again, and dragged to the next house that would most assuredly “fix him” as his case worker usually put it.

It never worked, of course. If there is one thing that Kevin Mundy knows he is, it’s stubborn, and no amount of beatings or empty promises ever changed his mind, the boy deadset on running away every chance he got. The last time he ran away was at ten years old, ditching his caseworker at the grocery store. He was mad at her, and hadn’t wanted to go to the next house that she’d picked out for him. Truth be told, Mundy had actually really liked his last foster family, his guardians being a middle-aged Australian couple that had signed up  _ specifically  _ to take  _ him  _ in, having heard a lot about his infamy through other foster families in the area. The man of the house had been a bit of a hardass, and was strict as well, but he never lied to Mundy, always answering any questions he had with honesty, so he soon began calling him Dad soon enough. The woman- who he had admittedly taken to calling Mum very quickly- was probably the kindest soul Mundy had ever met, being caring to a fault and a damn good cook, going so far as to teach him how to cook when he became curious. So yeah, when his caseworker showed up out of the blue to the house, and explained that he was being moved again, despite Mum and Dad begging to adopt him… Mundy ran away again, as he always did.

But he was lost out there, having only been able to lose his caseworker several states out from his old home, so he struggled to find his way back there. In his desperation, Mundy turned to carjacking, as no cars were willing to pick up a pint-sized hitchhiker.

“The fuck are you doin’ in my car, you little shit!?” As it turns out, people don’t take well to kids stealing their cars, resulting in a very angry man pounding on the car window that Mundy was smart enough to keep rolled up, as he had no intention of getting throttled. “You get outta there, you hear me!? If you don’t, I’mma call the fuckin’ cops on your ass, and they’ll fuckin’ shoot you dead! You hear me? I’ll kill you, you little bastard!!”

“Damn bloke…” Mundy simply rolled his eyes, unimpressed with the man’s tirade. Offhandedly, he searches the glove compartment, finding a decent pair of shades. A big grin now on his face, he pulled the sunglasses on, giving the man outside a snide little smirk afterwards. “Catch ya later, ya fuckin’ bludger!” With that, he hit the gas as hard as he could, taking off like a bat out of hell.

To be fair, he made it all the way to Nebraska before he got caught, so that definitely counts for something. It was his own fault really; Mundy knew he was going too fast while he was driving, but in his desperation to get home, he hadn’t taken the time to consider how suspicious that would look, especially when he could hardly see over the steering wheel, alerting nearby drivers that something was most certainly amiss. The minute cop cars had started following him, Mundy knew he was fucked, but again, he knows himself to be a stubborn little shit, so giving up wasn’t an option for him. He simply hit the gas even harder, until there was a full blown car chase for several miles of highway, at least twelve cop cars following him by the time he finally crashed. It had been an accident, of course; Mundy had gone too fast on that last turn, and had flipped the car a number of times into a ditch. The paramedics called him lucky, while the cops called him a danger to society. After one week in the hospital, and a few hours of getting scolded by the police and a judge, Mundy was sentenced to eight years in a detention center up in Maine, on the grounds that it was far enough away from where his old foster parents lived- all the way down in Arizona- that he wouldn’t even  _ consider  _ running away to them.

Mundy still remembers the last conversation he had with his Mum, over the phone in a police station hours before he was to be transported to the detention center. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Mum,” He said between sobs, crying for the first time since he’d been taken from his family. “I just wanted ta come home, ‘n nobody would let me or listen ta me, so I… I did somethin’ real bloody stupid, ‘n now I don’t think I’m ever gonna see ya again, ‘n-”

“-Kevin,” Mum sighed, but there was still love in her voice, despite her obvious frustration with him. “It’s gonna be a’ight, ya know why? ‘Cus you’re a bloody  _ brilliant  _ boy, ‘n I  _ know  _ you’ll be okay. Me ‘n ya Dad, we’re workin’ on adoptin’ ya as soon as we can, and even if you’re in that shithole ‘til you’re eighteen, you’ll always be welcome home once you’re out. You know that, dontcha? We love ya, honey, just please…  _ please, _ sweetie, don’t go doin’ anythin’ foolish like this again, okay? I know it’s hard, ‘specially when dem damn blue heelers have always been so tough on ya, but ya gotta play the game ta win it. Me ‘n ya Dad love ya heaps, Kevin, ‘n we’ll see ya again real soon, I promise. Be good for me, won’t you? ‘N no matter what, be strong.” And then she’d hung up, Mundy able to perfectly imagine how hard she must have been crying after that phone call.  
  
In retrospect, Mundy feels bad for breaking his promise to his Mum… but hey, he never gave a verbal agreement before she hung up, right? Yeah, because  _ that  _ will  _ totally  _ save his hide when she finds out about the shit he just pulled… at least he’s got a few weeks to come up with a good excuse, as well as his best friend, because if  _ anyone  _ can convince Mum not to lose her shit on him when he gets home, it’s sweet lil’ Bonnie.


	2. Balloonicorns and Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Updating at nearly 2AM and fucking up my sleep schedule to high heaven? It’s more likely than you think! Btw, when money comes up in this chapter, just know that I used the internet to see how much the stuff that’s bought costs in this era, so I’m sorry if it’s a jarring amount; it is supposed to be 1966, after all. Please enjoy!

Halfway through Massachusetts, Mundy stops for gas, and has Bonito stay in the RV this time around, as he doesn’t want to stress the mute anymore than they already have been. While on the road, the Australian made the stupid decision of putting on the radio, with the idea that some music would help pass the time for the duo, but of course, the first thing he and Bonito got to hear was the news calling for the runaway children to go to the police, even that damned headmaster coming on to give a “heartwarming and sweet” plea to the two kids, which of course involved misgendering Bonito half a million times. Not even halfway through the stupid speech, in-which Headmaster Michael claimed that he thought of the kids as his own sons, Mundy cut the feed, having no patience for his old abuser’s bullshit, but unfortunately that wasn’t quite soon enough, as Bonito was sobbing in no time, so much so that his friend had to pull the RV over and hug them until they could breathe again. After that, Mundy had to find a way to drive without Bonito, as he knew the older kid was too exhausted to help. Luckily for him, he found a toilet plunger in the RV’s bathroom, and after washing it  _ excessively, _ he began using it to help reach the pedals. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do for now.

“You be good, Bonnie… I’ll be back real bloody quick.” Mundy promises, taking Mr. King’s stolen jacket with him to act as a makeshift disguise.

Bonito doesn’t respond, of course, the teenager falling in and out of sleep on the RV’s only bed. Mundy leaves them be, heading into the gas station’s store with every intention of buying gas, which will probably be easier said than done, as he’s only twelve years old, and he  _ definitely  _ looks his age. Behind the counter is a young woman, looking to be in her late teens to early twenties, and without doing anything more than simply glancing at the boy, she returns to reading her magazine. Mundy resists the urge to smirk, as he hopes the cashier won’t pay enough attention to question him if he buys gasoline. Quietly, the preteen shuffles around the small store, searching for any large containers of gas he can buy. While he does this, he spots a large, stuffed unicorn on a shelf of plushies, a label that reads “Balloonicorn: Your Little Angel’s New Best Friend!” attached to one of it’s legs. Mundy hesitates, aware that the toy is expensive, but… ever since Bonito lost their comfort stuffie, he knows the mute has been heartbroken, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something to help his friend feel better. Without anymore stalling, Mundy snatches the huge plushie, and after grabbing a few canisters of gasoline as well, he heads upfront to check out.

The woman behind the counter raises an eyebrow when she sees the Balloonicorn. “You gettin’ that for your sister or somethin’, kiddo?” She asks, curious as she slips the toy into a paper bag.

Mundy bites his lip, wanting to say it’s for his sibling, not his non-existent sister, but he knows that would just cause trouble for him and Bonito. “Uh, yeah, it is,” He agrees, trying desperately to disguise his accent for fear of being recognized, but it’s hard. He sets the canisters of gas on the counter next, staring at the floor as he speaks. “My dad told me ta get these… sorry, he’s restin’ in the car.”

The cashier hardly even bats an eye, shrugging nonchalantly. “None ‘a my business,” She says, ringing him up without a second thought. “That’ll be four dollars, kid.”

Mundy again has to school his expression, internally wincing at the amount, but that’s what he gets for buying an expensive toy on top of gas. “Yes, ma’am.” He mutters, handing over the money without complaint. Only six dollars left, but Bonito can’t know that.

After checking out, Mundy hurries back to the RV, relieved that no police have arrived since he left, but seeing as he switched the license plates and removed the bumper stickers, it’s not like the RV has been recognizable to any law enforcement. Before getting back in, he’s careful to refill the gas tank, making it so he won’t have to stop for awhile longer. Once that’s done, Mundy hops back into the car, and is yet again filled with a sense of comfort and safety, because even if this car used to belong to a total jackass, it’s now his and Bonito’s, and that’s enough to make him feel like he has control in his life again for the first time in over a year. Quietly, so as not to wake his friend too soon, Mundy tiptoes deeper into the RV, smiling softly at the sight before him. Bonito is out cold on the bed, one arm slung over their eyes, the other hanging off the bed, the teen too tired to be bothered to get up anytime soon. The more talkative of the two considers leaving them be, but as he’s so excited to give them their gift… not caring to be quiet anymore, Mundy steps closer to the bed, and careful not to be too rough with them, he grabs Bonito by the shoulder, giving the other kid a light shake in hopes of waking them. The mute huffs under their breath, rolling over in silent protest.

“Aw, come on, Bon-Bon,” Mundy scolds in good fun, chuckling as he shakes Bonito a second time. “Don’t ya wanna see the present I gotcha?”

That gets a reaction out of them. In an instant, Bonito is sitting up and tilting their head at Mundy, eyes transfixed on the paper bag in his hands. The Australian laughs at this, amused by Bonito’s reaction.  _ “There’s _ the enthusiasm I like ta see, Roo! Here ya go, ya cobber!” He says, reaching into the bag before tossing the stuffed toy to his friend.

Bonito catches it with little effort, and the minute they see the Balloonicorn, they let out an excited, ear-piercing squeal. If Mundy had less self-control, he’d be clutching his ears at the high-pitched sound, but he keeps from doing so in order to preserve the happiness of this moment. As Bonnie dances around the room with their new Balloonicorn, humming a tune that their partner is unfamiliar with, Mundy watches on in silence, hands in his pockets as a smile overtakes his face. Over a year ago when he first met Bonito, the teen was depressed, suicidal, and left abandoned by the foster system, forced to live in the detention center for their crimes of arson and petty theft. They and Mundy clicked almost right away, sticking together since they were the outcasts, but there was always a fear between them, the duo scared of dying within the walls of that hell on earth. Now that they’re actually free, and he gets to see Bonito looking genuinely happy for the first time in his life, Mundy is filled with a sense of brother-like pride and protectiveness. Sure, Bonito is older than him at thirteen, but with how much they’ve been bullied and abused throughout their life, they sometimes act younger than their age, causing their best friend to feel this way towards them.

While completely lost in his own thoughts, Mundy feels a sudden tap on his shoulder, causing him to jump out of habit. It seems Bonnie stopped dancing awhile ago, and is now holding out a note to the preteen. Wordlessly, the Australian accepts the letter, reading through it to see what his friend wants to tell him. “[Thank you for the Balloonicorn, Mundy. How’d you know that I always wanted one?]”

Not bothering to lie, Mundy shrugs. “I didn’t, actually. I just saw it on the shelf, and it reminded me ‘a you, since ya like unicorns so much… it wasn’t roight dat that ole’ drongo took your old one ‘n tossed it away like rubbish, ‘n I know there ain’t no replacin’ it, but I hope that new one’ll be good enough ta fill the void, mate.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Bonito steps forward and hugs Mundy, squeezing their Balloonicorn between them. They mumble something, but it’s too quiet for the other runaway to hear, and yet, Mundy knows it was definitely something to the effect of saying they love him. “Yeah, I love ya too, Roo… you ‘n me, we’re family, ya got that? Practically rellies from the minute we met. ‘N family protects each other, at least, the family dat loves each other does. We don’t got nobody, so us lot gotta stick together, ‘n make our own lil’ family, ya see? It ain’t gonna be easy or nothin’, but…” He trails off, burying his face in Bonito’s shoulder. “I love ya so much, Bonnie… it’s you ‘n me ‘gainst the whole  _ bloody  _ world, ‘n if it ain’t gonna be kind ta us, we may as well burn it all down.”

Bonito simply nods, agreeing wholeheartedly with Mundy’s sentiment. The duo stays like that awhile longer, before continuing on their long road trip, heading southwest in search of something more permanent than just their RV.

* * *

Bonito’s story is a bit of a mystery, even to their best friend Kevin Mundy, but the younger boy has been able to piece together at least a bit of a backstory from the pieces and snippets his partner has let slip over the last year or so. From what Mundy can gather, Bonito actually had a family for the first few years of their life, up until they were about six or so. At that time, their family was found out by the United States government, and as they were illegal immigrants, they were all promptly deported back to Mexico… expect, of course, for little Bonito, who had been born within the US, so they got the “generous gift” of being ripped away from their family and tossed into foster care. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t have any better of a time than Mundy did growing up in the system, being moved from house to house without much time to adjust or gather their bearings, the only consistencies being beatings and a great sense of longing for their birth family. Eventually, Bonito discovered a love of fire, and well… they became a little  _ too  _ obsessed with it. Mundy hasn’t asked too much about the other child’s criminal record, as he has a feeling it’s not something his friend is proud of, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him when the other kid lit a flame, always staring into it with such wonder…

How they didn’t get caught for burning shit sooner, Mundy has no freaking idea, but he knows that what got them caught involved the total burning and subsequent destruction of an old warehouse, after which they were caught and given a similar prison sentence to Mundy, but with a few extra years in an adult prison once they reached seventeen just to make an impression on the kid. Bonito and Mundy met on the bus ride to the detention center. It had been surreal, in a way, the children all picked up individually across the United States, as the detention center was quite famous, and was known for “rehabilitating” youths all across the country. Mundy had been picked up early on in the bus drive, so he got to have a seat to himself, and as the bus filled with more boys, he was careful to keep them from sitting anywhere near him, the Australian wanting his space for as long as he could have such a thing; not that it was hard to keep his spot, most of the other boys not wanting to sit near the “weird talking” kid for the whole ride. And then… Mundy met _ them. _ It had been pouring rain outside, and freezing on the bus, when it stopped in front of a Detroit police station in early September; the cold hit Michigan early, leaving all the boys, who were not cared for enough to be given blankets or indoor heating, shivering like mad.

“Name, crime, and sentencing, please.” The bus driver rattled off in such a monotone, it was clear that her voice was weathered from years of chain smoking.

When the new kid refused to speak up, the police officer standing beside them took over, though not without smacking them upside the head for their insolence. “His name is Bonito Smith, and he was arrested for arson, possession of illegal substances, and several acts of petty robbery. He’s been sentenced to five years in Headmaster Michael’s Boarding School for Disobedient Boys, then five more years in a Michigan state prison.”

The bus driver didn’t seem all that surprised by the list of crimes nor the sentencing when she heard it- she’d had to hear a lot of worse crimes throughout the drive- but she did raise an eyebrow at the fact that the police officer spoke for Bonito. “You know, you could’ve just made the boy tell me what he did himself… that’s kinda the point, to make ‘im confess that they’re bad, or whatever. Headmaster’s orders.” She’d said it so casually, like they were talking about the weather, and not the fate of a preteen.

The cop shrugged with little interest, giving Bonito’s right arm a loose shake. “Well, this one hasn’t said a word the whole time we’ve had ‘im… doc said he’s r*****ed.”

“Figures,” That seemed to solve the mystery, the bus driver having rolled her eyes as she gave Bonito a small nod. “Come on, kid, just get in… no point in fuckin’ stallin’ this shit.”

When Bonito didn’t move so much as an inch, the cop holding them smacked them upside the head, encouraging the preteen to clamber recklessly onto the large bus. As they climbed up the stairs, Mundy got a good look at them, wanting to see what the first arsonist of the lot looked like. Bonito was tall, even back then, especially compared to the other boys on-board, with short, messy black hair covering their head, and piercing, chocolate brown eyes. They also had a number of scars adorning their face, some looking like light cuts from a knife, while others looked like small burns, as if from the bad end of a cigarette. They were dressed in dirt-stained blue jeans and a white t-shirt, looking to have been given to them by the police, and were that not sad enough, the kid wasn’t even wearing fucking shoes or socks that day, forced to walk around barefoot. Finally, Bonito carried a bright pink backpack that hung off of their left shoulder, which had gotten an empathetic wince out of Mundy, the boy aware that this kid was most assuredly going to be targeted by bullies. As expected, when they began walking down the bus’s aisle, the other boys sneered up at Bonito, simply shaking their heads every time they tried to sit down beside them, going so far as to put their backpacks next to them to bar the other kid from sitting down. Bonito only grew more nervous over time, eyebrows furrowed as they held the straps of their bag tighter to themselves, looking frantically around for a place to sit.

“Keep walkin’, f*g.” One boy growled in a tone lower than hell when Bonito walked by him, going so far as to give them a hard shove when they stepped too close for comfort.

Bonito flinched like a wild house cat at the contact, which earned a chorus of delighted and amused laughter from the delinquents, triggering a sudden game of “shove the new kid”, as the other boys were quick to catch on that this child didn’t like being touched, especially without permission. Mundy had scowled at this from the get-go, and although he hadn’t become close to Bonito yet, he had never been one to just watch as a kid got bullied, no matter how much their attire may’ve “earned” such treatment. Grounding his teeth together, the Australian had stood, and the moment he did, the other boys backed down, having already heard that he was a good fighter. Wordlessly, as he hadn’t wanted to seem soft, Mundy had stomped forward, making a big show out of looking bigger and tougher than he was, and grabbed Bonito by the shoulder. This, of course, got another harsh flinch from the older child, eliciting more giggling from nearby, but Mundy just ignored the noise, knowing it would do him no good to stop and comfort his target. Still without saying anything, the Australian had practically  _ dragged  _ Bonito back to where he’d been sitting before, forcing the taller kid to sit down first and take the window seat, effectively making himself a barrier between them and the other passengers. Once settled, Mundy let out a long sigh of relief, relaxing as the conflict ended without any bloodshed.

Bonito was still rather shaken up in the aftermath, giving Mundy a look as if they expected to be beaten, which honestly didn’t shock the Australian, as he figured this kid wasn’t all that accustomed to senseless kindness. So, with all the confidence of an alligator wrestler, Mundy turned in his seat and gave his new riding companion a big, toothy smile. “G’day, mate!” He chirped, internally praying that this kid wouldn’t turn cold on him for speaking in such an Aussie fashion. “I’m Mundy! What’s your name?”

Bonito was frozen like a deer in the headlights, looking frantically between Mundy’s face and his hand, clearly afraid that this might be a trick of some sort. Nervously, they eventually accepted the handshake, though they didn't say anything in response. A bit awkwardly, Mundy had waited eagerly for Bonito to speak, or at least  _ mime  _ something at him, but as the police officer pointed out just a few minutes prior, they either weren’t willing to speak, or… well, that’s okay; not everyone needs to ramble on and on about useless bullshit. For awhile, Mundy had settled for the comfortable silence that followed his greeting, the boy staring listlessly past Bonito and out the bus window, trying to memorize the outside world before he could be locked into the detention center. Although the driver had obviously detested the loud, annoying children riding her bus, she did nothing to silence them for the entire drive, only going so far as to occasionally shout at them to shut their mouths when traffic got particularly bad, so most of the drive was spent in nearly deafening racket, the other boys on-board happy to scream their bloody heads off. Mundy hadn’t appreciated the noise at all, preferring to just sit and daydream during road trips, however, about a half hour after the bus had picked up Bonito, Mundy felt something poke his leg. He was half scared it was gonna be a knife, but as he had looked down, he discovered that an open notebook was being shoved onto his lap, alongside a pencil to write with.

“[Sorry for not talking to you sooner, Mundy; it’s just really hard for me, ‘specially around people I’m not used to. My name is Bonito, but you can call me Bonnie if you want to!]”

Mundy had grinned at the note, making sure Bonito saw his reaction before he scribbled out a reply, which he gave to Bonito immediately after finishing it. “[No drama, we can’t all be blabbermouths after all! By the way, I heard what ya got arrested for; that’s bloody wild, mate! You wanna know what I got caught for? Hijacking a car ‘n crashin’ her into a ditch, like I was some kinda movie star! Pretty gnarly, roight?]”

Bonito gave an audible chuckle when they read Mundy’s writing, quick to scribble out a response. The duo kept this up for nearly the rest of the drive, only pausing to eat or sleep. Throughout this exchange, they learned more and more about each other, telling stories of their lives and funny jokes when the mood became particularly sour or down. They learned just how much they have in common through these exchanges, having both been more or less raised in the foster care system, and how they both struggled to stay out of trouble with the law. Even with all they share, Mundy could sense even then that Bonito was holding back a lot about themselves, their past being a bleak and bloody one from what they did let slip, so the Australian made up for it by talking about the good times in his life, even telling the slightly older kid about his last set of foster parents, and how great they were to him. This got quite the excited reception from Bonito, who admitted that they wished they had such amazing foster parents too, and even with all they’d hidden, the younger kid hadn’t missed the longing in their new friend’s eyes for such love and kindness from their own parents. Although they had only known each other for a few hours at that point, Mundy struck a deal with Bonito in that moment, knowing even then that the child beside him was going to be a lifelong friend.

“[Tell ya what, Bonnie; someday, you ‘n me are gonna break outta the shithole we’re bein’ sent to, and when we do, we can drive all the way to me Mum and Dad’s place! They’re such nice folks, Roo, I’m defo they’d take you in, too! What do ya say, mate? You in?]”

Bonito didn’t even hesitate, beaming proudly as they showed Mundy their answer, just as confident in this newborn friendship as he was.

“[I’m in, Mundy.]”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof ouch, my wittle feewings. For extra sadness, please know that the song “I Promise I’m Trying” by Cavetown was playing on repeat while I was editing the second half of this chapter, and I can’t stop imagining Bonito singing this internally towards Mundy… they wanna help so badly, but it’s hard for them; all they can do is reassure Mundy that they love him and that they’re trying so, so hard. Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter; feel free to drop a comment or kudos if ya did, and I’ll see y’all next time!


	3. Hitchhikers and Storytime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While editing this chapter, my sister had to come and take out a spider that I discovered on my closet door, so I hope that while y’all are reading this, know that midway through working on the editing of this chapter, I was running to my older sister and close to shedding some very masculine tears.

It’s warm here, and that’s a welcome blessing. Mundy keeps the windows rolled down while driving down the highway, Bonito occasionally sticking their head out to feel the wind on their face, and it’s nice, it really is. It feels like freedom.

The duo has hardly been in Illinois for an hour when, out of the corner of Mundy’s eye, he sees a young man walking down the side of the highway he’s driving on. Now, this isn’t exactly an uncommon sight when he’s driving, as a lot of grown men hitchhike once they come of age, but upon closer inspection, the Australian realizes that without a doubt, the hitchhiker that’s waltzing down the road is a _ teenager,  _ and a fairly young one at that. Hell, the guy can’t be all that much younger than him and Bonito! Internally, Mundy considers just ignoring the kid and continuing on his drive to Arizona, as he has no idea how safe it would be to let the guy ride with him and his friend, especially while they themselves are on the run from the law,  _ but…  _ well, his Mum always told him to be good to people, especially people in need of his help. Letting out a long and exhausted sigh, Mundy begins to pull up to the other child, getting a better look at him as he does so. The other boy has on an oversized army jacket that covers what he hopes are shorts, as well as a very old satchel that looks one good swing away from the handle ripping off. How this kid got so mangled looking, Mundy has no idea, but he intends on finding out.

Once the hitchhiker realizes that someone’s pulling over for him, he turns and grins at the approaching RV, and it’s only now that Mundy notices that the kid has on an incredibly oversized army helmet, having to push it up for his eyes to be seen. After parking, the Australian gets up and approaches the door, and with a deep breath, he opens it and greets the stranger. “G’day to ya, mate,” He calls out, trying to be friendly, but he’s worried that his voice might come out too shaky. “You need a ride? Where you headin’, kid?”

“North Carolina!” The younger kid shouts, and although his voice is deeper than Mundy or Bonito’s, the older boy can tell that this kid is still pretty young; he probably just hit puberty early or something like that. “I need to join the Army if I’m going to defeat the commie menace!”

“I… the bloody  _ what?”  _ Mundy just  _ stares  _ at the stranger, not sure what the hell he’s going on about. “Look, you need a ride or not, mate?” He repeats, having no time for this bullshit.

“The  _ commie menace!  _ Goddamn, boy, haven’t you  _ heard!? _ Communists have taken over Russia, and it’s up to America to take ‘em out!” The kid explains, ending his speech with a patriotic salute… with the wrong hand, oddly enough. “The name’s Private John Jane Doe, and I’m America’s last hope for stopping them damn commies from taking over America, and replacing our beloved capitalist society with their socialist anarchy!”

Mundy slowly blinks at…  _ John,  _ it seems. He’s half tempted to shut the door in this drongo’s face and take off, but again, he doesn't have the heart to abandon a hitchhiker that’s probably as young as he is, if not even younger, which is a very scary thought, if he’s being honest with himself. Besides, if this fella’s name is anything to go off of, as well as the hospital wristband that Mundy can now see on the hand John’s using to salute with… the queen have mercy, this lil’ hoon must be an escapee from a psych ward, isn’t he? That or a hospital. He probably lost his mind from some kind of freak accident, and now he’s convinced that there are apparently communists trying to overtake the United States? Mundy wants to laugh at the very idea, but he bites his tongue not only out of pity, but fear, as he can’t help but wonder if John has a gun somewhere on his person, if he’s so convinced that he’s a soldier. Silently, the Australian considers what would happen if he brought this kid aboard, worried that he might hurt Bonito, but… one look in his eyes suggests that John won’t hurt any other kids; he’s only interested in fighting communists. Although it’s against his better interest, and could easily lead to disaster, Mundy bites the bullet and steps aside, leaving the doorway to the RV open for John.

“Come on in, mate… just promise not ta hurt nobody, aight?” Mundy says, beckoning the other boy inside. “My friend is ridin’ in the back, ‘n their name’s Bonnie. You don’t ever call ‘em a boy or a sheila, you got dat? They ain’t either.”

“Very well!” John takes that surprisingly well, a spring in his step as he climbs into the RV, looking around with an excited grin on his face. “Quite the impressive fortifications, son! Tell me, are your walls bulletproof, or do you plan on deflecting the bullets through your will to survive alone? No need to be shy, son; either option is worthy of my respect!”

Mundy stares at John in utter disbelief, too confused to even answer; should he be more concerned about being called  _ ‘son’  _ by a kid that’s probably younger than him, or about the fact that this wombat wants him to deflect bullets? In the meantime, Bonito comes crawling out from their pillow fort at the back of the RV, tilting their head with curiosity when they catch sight of John. “Mmph?” They ask in a muffled attempt at speaking, Balloonicorn held close to their chest. Hm, seems they’re chatty today.

“This is Johnny,” Mundy explains, voice soft when speaking to Bonito. “He was jus’ walkin’ all by his lonesome along the road, ‘n it wouldn’t ‘a been roight to leave ‘im there, so… yeah, he’s ridin’ with us for awhile. You alright with that, Roo?” He hopes they are, as he doesn’t want to kick John out right after bringing the little ankle biter inside.

Bonito nods in earnest, flashing John a big grin. They step forward, holding out their hand to the younger child. “Mph!” They greet, trying so hard to be sociable, even when it’s difficult for them.

John doesn’t miss a beat, taking Bonito’s hand in his and giving it a rough, but friendly handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Private Bonito!” He shouts, returning Bonito’s smile.

Mundy does a double take, shocked. “Wait, you  _ understood  _ them? I told ya their name was  _ Bonnie,  _ not Bonito, so you  _ must’ve  _ understood their mumblin’! You tryin’ ta pull somethin’ on me, ya bruce?”

“Again, my name is John Doe, and no, I am not using communist mind control on you, son. Isn’t it obvious? Private Bonito’s clearer than a cloudless sky!” John explains, unfazed by Mundy’s concern. It’s then that he turns to the Australian, giving him a steady once-over. “And what exactly is  _ your  _ name, private? I don’t recall hearing it.”

“Oh, you can jus’ call me Mundy,” Mundy offers, shrugging halfheartedly. He’s never liked his birth name, so he’s been using his foster folks’ last name for awhile now. “So, you’re headin’ ta North Carolina, roight? I think that’s further west ‘a here, mate.”

_ “Yes!  _ North Carolina is where we must go, if we are to stop the dreaded communists that plague our beloved nation from taking it over from the inside out!” John bellows, and just like that, he’s back to screaming.

“Um…  _ sure, _ aight,” Mundy mutters, still less than enthused by John’s mindless rambling, but seeing as Bonito seems to like him so far, he’s inclined to just live and let be. “‘Fore I forget, you got any money on ya? Don’t like beggin’ none, but we ain’t exactly livin’ like the qu-  _ president  _ ‘ere.” He corrects himself before he can mention the queen, as he doubts John would like any mention of her in his presence.

John shakes his head. “Nope! Couldn’t grab any while I was escaping!” He states, before turning to Bonito again, a wide grin on his face. “Say, private, you wanna hear of my daring escape from a communist secret base? It was harrowing and torturous, and several people definitely died, but I escaped unscatched!”

Bonito nods, clapping in earnest. “Mhm!” They mumble, more than a little excited to hear about John’s adventures.

As John bursts into a long, exaggerated monologue about his escapade, Mundy listens in from the sidelines, putting together the pieces from the other boy’s story in order to figure out what  _ really  _ happened to him. As he thought, John was definitely in a hospital of some kind before he ran away, and as he had no identifying items on his person and no family came forward to claim him, he was given the placeholder name of John Doe. Unfortunately, whatever put him in the hospital also gave John amnesia, and not only that, but something- or rather,  _ someone-  _ must've influenced him to build up fake memories of serving as some sort of child soldier against communist Russia. Not long after he built up his new persona, he escaped the hospital and took off on the road, somehow getting some military clothing to wear before continuing on his merry way, heading towards Fort Bragg in North Carolina. Once he finishes the story, John finally begins to doze off while still on his feet, exhausted after days of walking non-stop without even pausing to rest or sleep. Bonito encourages the younger kid to lay down on the RV’s only bed, where they tuck him in under the covers, going so far as to kiss the top of his helmet goodnight. John huffs at this, but otherwise doesn’t complain or argue, just grateful for somewhere to finally stop and rest after all this time on his own.

With John soon fast asleep and taking up the bed, Bonito sits upfront with Mundy, giving the other runaway a loving smile as they hold up a note to him. “[Thank you for bringing John on-board… I know he’s a bit loud, but he seems really nice! :3]”

Mundy shrugs, though his heart secretly swells with happiness at the praise. “What was I supposed ta do, Roo? Leave ‘im out there ta freeze ta death? Bloody hell, I may be a dastardly lil’ arsehole, but I ain’t a  _ complete  _ fuckwit!”

Bonito laughs at this, but as usual, it’s muffled.

The rest of that day’s drive is spent in relative silence, the only sounds being John’s impeccably loud snoring, Bonito’s mumbled whispers to their Balloonicorn, and Mundy’s occasional sighs as he drives for what seems like forever. Internally, the preteen kind of regrets bringing John aboard, as he’s probably going to cause a lot of trouble at pit-stops and the like, and yet… he’s just as lost and hopeless as they are, isn’t he? Sure, he didn’t come from a detention center like him and Bonnie did, but with his attitude and energy, he easily could’ve ended up in one, if given enough time to get into trouble. Quietly, Mundy glances back at John again, finding the sight of the boy unconscious, one arm slung over his eyes after his helmet has rolled off, the other hanging limp off the bed, a little endearing, if he’s gonna be honest with himself. He isn’t as sweet and innocent as Bonito, not by a longshot, but Mundy can already feel himself growing more and more worried for the kid, and in his experience, worry turns to protectiveness all too quickly for him. Internally, the Australian sighs, wondering how his folks will react if he ends up bringing an entire busload of lost and homeless kids to their door, because at this rate, he’s worried he’d have a booze bus worth of orphans on their doorstep by the time he gets home.

Oh well… the more the merrier, as Mum would say. Mundy laughs at that, realizing that Mum is probably going to regret saying such a thing when she sees him again in a few more days.

* * *

John’s story isn’t as simple as Mundy thought it was, not by a fucking long shot.

It’s dark right now, the windows of the RV locked shut with the car itself pulled over in the back end of god knows where; they’re in Nebraska, that much Mundy is certain of. With it being the very start of summertime in the states, the air outside is bone-chilling at night, making the group of orphans all the more thankful for their shelter. Currently the trio is in a misshapen pile on the RV’s only bed, it being a tiny twin-size that can usually fit Mundy and Bonito well enough, but with the new addition of John, it’s made much harder to get comfortable, leaving the most responsible of the kids awake and restless. Doing his best not to wake his friends in the process, Mundy manages to sit up, his back against the wall so he can have some more space to breathe. The others now more or less sprawled out across his lap, the boy looks down, smirking at the sight; Bonito occasionally mumbles and huffs in their sleep, but they thankfully stay that way, clutching their Balloonicorn as they slumber. John, in the meantime, has his arms and legs spread out like an unruly octopus, loud but thankfully not constant snoring coming from his wide open mouth. In all honesty, John looks almost dead in such a strange position, but as Mundy has come to learn, that’s just how the little ankle biter sleeps.

It’s been about three days since John joined the pack, and to Mundy’s relief, he gets along with Bonito and him like a house on fire. That is to say, all three of them are fucking insane in their own special ways, blasting music from the RV’s shitty little radio- the Australian’s starting to worry that it’ll bust soon, with how loud he and John like to crank it- while on the road, and being friendly and playful with each other at rest stops. At first, Mundy was too scared to play around with the others, afraid of being scolded by nearby adults, or of being noticed by the authorities, but as he’s discovered, a group of three boys (at least in society’s eyes) horse-playing in public is completely normal to most folk, making the trio seem rather ordinary now instead of weird. Before, Mundy and Bonito were taking turns using the rest stops, afraid of being caught, but John’s behavior makes it so that all three of them can use the restroom or buy food every time they stop. Okay, they may not actually be “buying” food, but only Mundy has to know that, and so long as Bonito just gives him worried looks and John remains oblivious, he’s fine with keeping the lie going for as long as he can; not like it’s his first time shoplifting or anything, it’s just the first time he’s had to do it since before he was incarcerated in that damn detention center.

As the low rumble of thunder sounds from the distance-  _ it’s getting closer, close enough that they’ll be getting pelted with rain within the hour; hopefully Bonnie will sleep through it, as they despise thunderstorms- _ Mundy glances down at John, able to just make out his slumbering face in the darkness of the RV. Quietly, the older boy reaches down, and with all the gentleness he’s been shown by his foster Mum, he fixes John’s short, messy hair with the tips of his fingers, barely brushing the skin of the other boy’s forehead in the process. John’s brow furrows in his sleep, and like a Tasmanian devil in the midst of a cloud of mozzies, he waves an Aussie salute at his face, Mundy pulling his hand back before he can get swatted. The older boy chuckles at this, having to muffle his voice to avoid being heard. Despite John’s rough and tumble attitude, the ankle biter constantly challenging Bonito and him to wrestling matches- he always loses, mainly because Bonito is too steady to be knocked off their feet, and Mundy just sits on him until he taps out- he’s still a fucking kid, and a young one at that. By the queen, what is he saying? He’s a kid, too! Sighing, Mundy looks away from the younger boy, eyes glazed over as he stares out the nearest window, a great sickness filling his insides as he recalls John’s story from earlier today, still haunted by the memory.

Bonito was laid out on the floor, laying on their stomach as they stared up at John with big, excited eyes. “So, ya wanna know how I got to be the incredible soldier I am today, Private Bonito? You wanna know who taught me all there is to know about capitalism, glory, and respect?” John had asked, grinning with his hands on his hips as he looked down at Bonnie, the child soldier stood on the bed to make himself appear taller than he probably will ever be. The rock of the RV in motion nearly knocked him off a few times when the car turned without any warning, but he somehow managed to keep himself from falling. When Bonito had simply nodded in response, holding Balloonicorn closer so they could listen to the story as well, John’s smile widened with glee. “Very well then! Say, Private Mundy, do you wanna hear this, too? I’m  _ certain  _ it’ll boost our platoon’s morale, as well as give you the inspiration to help mow down those disgusting commies!”

“Don’t worry, I’m listenin’,” Mundy promised, eyes fixed on the road, and although most of his attention was spent driving, he was still listening to John’s story rather intently. “Go ahead, Johnny, I won’t miss nothin’.”

“Good, because this is the greatest story of all time!” John boomed, and just like that, he descended into his harrowing tale. “Many months ago from today, I awoke in a communist prison cell, where the walls were painted as white as Russia’s snow, with the faces of smiling cartoon animals taunting me from their colorful prison along the walls! They all had cameras in their eyes, and now every time I see baby colors, I have the primal urge to _ kill!” _

Mundy had to bite his lip to keep from snorting, fully believing that John was talking about a children’s hospital and not the prison cell he thinks it was. “Oh yeah, mate? Sounds bloody awful.” He played along with the younger boy’s story, aware that if John believed at any point that he was being teased by him, he wouldn’t hesitate to start swinging at the Australian, even while he’s driving on the highway.

John nodded in full agreement, not hearing the laughter in Mundy’s voice, too caught up in his theatrics to notice. “It most certainly was; I swear, I thought those damn animals were going to come alive and smother me in my sleep!” He bellowed, turning to Bonito again to continue telling them the story, as he knew they were his main audience, seeing as Mundy was busy driving. “So there I was, locked in an infantile colored cell in a communist prison, but I was not alone in that hell! Oh no no no, there were  _ other  _ soldiers there, all prisoners of war, just like me! Do you want to know who the bravest of them all was, Private Bonito?” He waited for Bonnie to give him an eager nod before continuing his tale, if only to make sure they were still paying attention. “It was none other than Colonel Kennedy, the greatest war hero of our generation! You see, the communists must have performed experiments on me, as I had no memory of my military service, but thanks to Colonel Kennedy’s stories and mentoring, I was able to remember my purpose, which is to protect America from evil communists!”

Mundy made a face at that, having not heard John mention this character before. “Hold on, mate… who’s dis Colonel Kennedy bloke you’re goin’ on ‘bout? He your dad?” He almost hoped it was, praying that John’s father had been visiting him in the hospital, and the kid simply mistook him for being another patient.

“Ha, I  _ wish!” _ John laughed outright at Mundy’s assumption, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, Colonel Kennedy is one of the greatest soldiers to ever live, and if it weren’t for him, I most assuredly would have been brainwashed by those filthy communists running the prison. They tried telling me I was just a helpless child, that I needed to  _ ‘remember my family’ _ and _ ‘stop acting up’ _ so they could  _ ‘help me’, _ but it was all a part of their mind games; they were going to sell me to Leonid Brezhnev, I just know it! Early into this torture, Colonel Kennedy found me during one of my first escape attempts, and began taking care of me in secret, despite the guards doing everything in their power to seperate us, as they knew he would save me from their evil ways! At night, Colonel Kennedy would break into my cell and bring me to his own, where we sat together and told stories of America, and how wonderful it is! He was a great man, private, and a damn good fighter, too! You see, he taught me how to fight guerrilla warfare style using a scalpel he’d smuggled into his cell, and from there, we fought side by side to escape the facility…” He went quiet all of a sudden, his eyes full of sorrow.

“Hm?” Bonito hummed, worried for the boy. “Mph mm mpha?” They asked, the question sounding a lot like  _ ‘What’s the matter?’ _ to Mundy’s ears, the younger child having spent over a year learning to decipher Bonnie’s mumbling enough to know what they were usually trying to say.

John sighed in defeat, his tone turning somber as he continued the tale. “Unfortunately, not everyone survives the war, Private Bonito… I had to learn that lesson the hard way. During our harrowing escape, in which we were the only prisoners trying to get away, as the others were all too brainwashed to know the danger they were in, Colonel Kennedy managed to help me escape by tossing me down a laundry chute. He couldn’t fit into such a ridiculously small hole, so I had to go alone from there. Once I was through though, he tossed me down his helmet, one of the last things he ever gave me other than his jacket, but it knocked me unconscious after it hit my head on the way down. When I came to, I discovered he’d been killed during his escape due to the communists using their mind control to make him have a heart attack! Were it not for him, I would probably still be locked in that hellhole,” Smiling again, as if he’d never felt sad at all, John pat his oversized helmet with a look of pride on his face. “The helmet’s a bit big on me still, but as Colonel Kennedy pointed out, I’ll grow into it someday! Once I’m older, I’m gonna kill every last communist from that prison and avenge Kennedy’s death, just like he told me to!”

Bonito began clapping enthusiastically once John was done speaking, probably having assumed that the boy made his story up, but Mundy… he couldn’t shake the feeling of nausea from his frame, finding parts of John’s story incredibly worrying. Even now, in the dead of night, with his friends sleeping peacefully in his presence, Mundy can’t stop feeling uncomfortable and afraid, his concern for John’s safety only exacerbated by the knowledge that not  _ only  _ was the boy kept in a children’s hospital before now, but he really  _ did  _ get brainwashed by someone to believe he’s a soldier, that someone likely being a fellow patient. Struggling not to sigh aloud, Mundy’s left hand comes to rest on John’s army jacket, his fingers fiddling with one of the zippers; a name-tag over the jacket’s heart reads  _ “Kennedy” _ in big black letters, though they’ve almost been worn off with age. How bad was the hospital he was staying in for John to start believing an insane man’s furphy? Or, better yet, how  _ hopeless  _ did the little ankle biter feel, if he was willing to cling to Colonel Kennedy for support instead of the hospital staff that were trying to help him? In any case, Mundy knows he’ll probably never get the real story of John’s life from the kid, as he’s quite the unreliable narrator, but in any case, one thing is certain in the preteen’s mind; he’s never going to let anyone hurt this dumb little kid again.  
  
Glancing out the window again, Mundy sees a crack of lightning illuminate the night sky, but he can’t help but smile as warmth fills his chest. They’re only about five more hours away from Arizona… once he’s back in his home state, the preteen knows he’ll be able to find his way back to the house his foster parents live in. Good god, he can’t  _ wait  _ to see them again, but he settles for trying to lie down and get some much needed sleep until then, his right hand coming to hold Bonito’s, the other holding a fistful of John’s army jacket. Come daybreak, they kids will hit the road again, but for just a few hours, the only sounds being snores and heavy rainfall accompanied by thunder, all three orphans are allowed some time to rest, unaware of how much suffering is waiting for them tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, these kids sure are traumatized, aren’t they? Unfortunately for them, it’s gonna get worse before it gets better, but you’ll see what I mean by that in the next chapter! Btw, for those of you who don’t know, Leonid Brezhnev was the head of the communist party in 1966, so that’s why John mentioned him during his story. Okay, see you all again soon, and thank you for reading, I can’t wait to hear what y’all think of this chapter!


	4. Tardiness and Coppers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as the last few, but fuck it, I can’t bring myself to care all that much. Are y’all ready for an emotional rollercoaster and kids getting traumatized? Me neither, but here we are. Let’s do this shit!

Mundy can hardly breathe, almost forgetting how as he stares listlessly at the empty house in front of him, which had been his and his parents’ home less than two years ago.

The house, thank the queen, isn’t in too bad of shape, looking well taken care of before it was abandoned… well, not properly  _ abandoned, _ as it has a “For Sale” sign propped up on the front lawn, so  _ someone  _ will probably live in it again soon. After all, it’s in a good neighborhood. All at once, Mundy can perfectly picture how the house looked before he was taken from it; potted plants scattered all over the outside and inside, in beautifully painted pots and old cans that were beginning to rust, the aroma enough to calm him during his frequent anxiety attacks when he first arrived here, but they're all gone now, replaced with dust and overgrown weeds sprouting up across the lawn. There was a tire swing in the front yard that Dad put up for Mundy a few days after he moved in, with his only excuse for making it being “a boy needs a swing”, which the kid hadn’t had the energy to question back then. Even though it’s summertime, a chill runs down Mundy's spine as he stares at the now empty tree in the front yard, the swing having been torn down before the couple moved. Eyeing the roof, the boy remembers how on occasion, if the weather wasn’t too bad and it wasn’t a school night, he and his folks would sprawl out on the roof, Mum and Dad doing most of the talking as they told their son about the stars and the constellations up above him.

They used to say he could go to the moon someday, if he put his mind to it.

Mundy takes a deep inhale, trying to stay calm, but the wind’s mix of familiarity- the constant undertone of gasoline from when Dad spilled a canister while he was working on his truck, a light whiff of common yarrow and deerweed- vs an alien smell he hasn’t been fed since he was too young to form memories- the too-clean scent of bleach and cleaning supplies coating the house, the smell of dog shit where it shouldn’t be- has his taste buds overwhelmed, and it takes every ounce of the boy’s restraint not to keel over and vomit. Straightening, Mundy swallows down the bile, grimacing at the feeling as another wave of anxiety plows into him. _They left him, they left him, they left him… they left without him, not so much as a warning or goodbye left for him to find in the rubble._ In the midst of his mental torment, the Australian forces himself to simply sit on the ground, eyes still glued to the house he thought would be his forever home. When did they move? Was it right after he was taken from them, after he was sent to the detention center, or some time even more recent than that? They never mentioned moving during the few phone calls he was allowed to have with them while he was incarcerated, so it couldn’t have been _too_ _recent,_ and yet… something about this is so, _so_ wrong. They said they loved this place, so why would they abandon it?

While Mundy feels his mind slowly unraveling and falling apart at the seams, Bonito and John stand on either side of him, both unsure of how to feel about any of this, aware that  _ something  _ is wrong, if their friend is being this quiet, but they don’t know what's causing it yet. “So…  _ this _ is Fort Mundy?” John asks, trying to stay positive, but he sounds less bombastic than usual. “Impressive fortifications, soldier; fine walls, a decent lawn, and even a front door! Given a bit of elbow grease, we’ll have this place back in working order in no time flat.” He starts striding towards the house, looking it over with an appraiser's eye.

Bonito keeps glancing between John, Mundy, and the house, their body language that of someone who’s been overwhelmed with empathy. Out of desperation to comfort their friend, and a refusal to just stand idly by, they sit on the grass beside Mundy, and without a word, they hug him as tightly as they can.

Still not saying anything, Bonito’s hug squeezes the tears past the metaphorical floodgates, streaming down Mundy’s face and soaking into his vest. The boy manages to blink a few times, but that only goes to break his mask entirely, and within the span of only a few seconds, he begins bawling his eyes out, his knees drawn up enough to block his vision, if only so he can shield himself from the sight of such an empty, lonesome house. Bonito pats his back in response, giving silent reassurance to the other orphan.

John flinches as the sound, whipping around to see where it’s coming from. “Private Mundy?” He asks, tone laced with a surprising amount of concern. “Private Mundy, why are you crying? What happened? Have you been shot with an invisible dart by an invisible communist that makes people cry until they die? Don’t worry, we’ll find and kill them, soldier!”

Mundy tries to open his mouth to speak, to explain himself, but this just gets him to sob even harder, his grief too overwhelming for him to talk properly. John comes to stand in front of the older boy, his hands on his hips as he stares down at him. When Mundy tries to look up, he’s hit with another wave of painful nostalgia, John’s position reminding him of Dad when he’d found him crying alone in his room after he accidentally called him by that name for the first time. Back then, Dad had been quick to kneel down and hug his foster son close, promising him that it was okay if he called him by such a thing, even going so far as to say he felt honored by the gesture. Mundy doesn’t expect the same from John, as he assumes that he’s too gruff and militant to offer him very much comfort- if anything, he’s waiting for the kid to start beating him for being too soft- but to his shock, John does exactly what Dad did two years ago; he kneels down and hugs him with all his might, his hold not quite as tight as Dad’s was, but it’s the thought that counts. Mundy cries even harder at this, burying his face in John’s jacket, while Bonito keeps up the affection on their end, beginning to rub their friend’s back in slow, soothing circles. Internally, the Australian feels like shit for crying, not wanting to worry his friends by breaking down in front of them, but it’s not like he can help it.

“There there, private,” John murmurs, patting Mundy’s head like one would a dog. “Not every base survives the war, and not every soldier makes it to the other end of the battlefield… don’t you worry though, we’ll modify this place from the ground up, and it’ll be even better than it was before!”

“Ya… ya don’t  _ get it, _ mate,” Mundy says, hiccuping as he tries to rub the moisture from his eyes. “My folks… dey  _ left  _ me. They was supposed ta stay, but now they’re gone, ‘n I… it was all for nothin’. We came all the fuckin’ way out ‘ere, ‘n it was for _ nothin’.” _

“Nonsense!” John chirps, putting on a wide smile to try and lighten the mood. “Come on, Private Mundy, listen to yourself, blubberin’ and cryin’ like this is your first battle! We made it all the way out here, did we not? Pick yourself up, son; if this base is empty, we’ll just find another one to live in! After all, we can't be fighting the good fight if we cry every time we see our base!”

Bonito spares John a slight glare, before rubbing their cheek affectionately against the young Australian’s face. Mundy, in the meantime, manages to wipe away the rest of his tears, though his vest is soaked with it afterwards. Slowly, he stands up, prompting Bonito to let go and stand alongside their friend. Again he stares up at the little two-story house before him, able to see that on the second floor, through the window that leads to his old room, the bright red curtains have been taken down… if they took his curtains with him, does that mean they took  _ everything  _ from his bedroom with them? Is the warm little bedroom they decorated for him all those years ago sitting in a new house, miles and miles away from here, just waiting for him to live in it again? No, they wouldn’t have done that… his stuff is probably all in the rubbish, not worth taking wherever his folks are off to. Biting back another unwelcome sob in order to keep it trapped in his throat, Mundy dusts himself off, struggling to control himself. _ His vest is too hot.  _ Frustrated, he takes it off, the material too wet and annoying to keep on. All too suddenly, he feels a newfound wave of anger shake him to the core, and without much forethought or care, the preteen tosses his vest into the dirt, stomping on it with all his might, like a toddler that’s just been told no at the grocery store. John and Bonito back off, having never seen such violence from the typically responsible and calm Australian before.

“Get stuffed, ya piece ‘a shit!” Mundy bellows, kneeling down to punch at his vest, beating it with all his strength. “Fuckin’ dickhead, it’s all ya bloody fault! Ya worthless waste ‘a space, I’mma rip ya ta shreds, ya damn slagger!”

At this point, he can’t tell who he’s yelling at; Bonito for not being the one in charge when they’re the oldest, John for being an annoying ankle biter, his birth parents for abandoning him, his foster parents for doing the same  _ fucking  _ thing… deep down, he knows he’s beating himself up, mad that he wasn’t good enough to stay out of trouble, wasn’t brave enough to tell the social worker no when she took him away, wasn’t clever enough to escape sooner. So now he’s stuck here, his last family missing, and his current one watching him have a mental breakdown in the Arizona heat, kicking up dirt like a feral kangaroo. In the midst of his tantrum, Mundy catches Bonito walking away, with John following after them. Are they going to leave him, too? He can’t say he blames them; he’d take off running too if he had to watch a madman lose the last of his bloody sanity. Just as he’s managing to rip a few tears into his vest, Mundy feels a presence behind him, and before he can act, the presence throws a large, red blanket over him. It’s one of the ones from the RV, he notes. Still having a meltdown, he tries to attack whoever put the blanket on him, but it must be more than one person, as the assailants force the blanket down at all four corners, effectively trapping him. Furious, Mundy screams, kicking and thrashing in his newfound prison, but his attackers refuse to let him up, keeping him trapped for the time being.

In good time, Mundy runs out of energy, and with one last sob, he throws himself to the dirt, crying like a baby as the anger fades, replaced with grief again. After a few seconds of this, the blanket is tugged up, and John and Bonito poke their heads underneath the blanket to check on him. “Are you done being mind controlled by the communists, Private Mundy?” John asks with the same tone a patient father might use when asking his child if they’re done throwing a temper tantrum.

Mundy just stares at John, once again starstruck by the sheer insanity of the ten-year-old in his presence. As crazy as the ankle biter’s assumption is, the older boy goes along with it, too prideful to admit he was throwing a fit. “Y-Yeah, I’m alroight… dey must’ve gotten me pretty good, huh?”

Bonito’s eyebrows furrow with worry, but John just beams, glad that Mundy has snapped out of his trance. “I’ll say! Sneaky bastards, aren’t they? But don’t you worry, Private Bonito and I know it wasn’t your fault; those monsters tend to sneak up on you, ‘specially when you least expect ‘em. So long as we’re here though, we won’t let ‘em control you, Mundy.”

Mundy manages a weak smile, reaching up off the ground to pat John’s helmet. “Thanks, mate,” He says, exhausted after his meltdown, so much so that he let’s out a big, exaggerated yawn. “Fuck me dead, I feel like I’mma pass out… we oughta bail soon, ‘fore someone gets suspicious ‘a us.”

“I wholeheartedly agree!” John yells, throwing off the blanket entirely. He then wraps his arms around Mundy’s middle, attempting to pick him up, but the ten-year-old isn’t nearly as strong as the older boy. “Come on, I’ll fireman carry you back to the tank before the commies can shoot you again!” He shouts, grunting as he tries so very hard to pick Mundy up, but it’s no use.

“Come on, Johnny, I ain’t  _ dat  _ buggered; just a smidge tired, that’s all! Here, I can get up on me ow-” As Mundy is standing up, fully prepared to walk himself back to the RV, Bonito suddenly picks him up, having no trouble carrying the Australian bridal style.  _ “Oi! _ Bonnie, whatcha think you’re doin’!? Rack off, mate, I can walk jus’ fine; I ain’t crippled ‘ere!”

Bonito shakes their head, having none of Mundy’s arguing. “Seems Private Bonito is here to help you out too, Mundy!” John comments, smiling at the scene in front of him as he crosses his arms with pride in his eyes. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, soldier. Hell, if anything, I wish  _ I  _ had been shot by those commies so I could start working up my immunity to their poisons!”

Mundy huffs, giving John a dirty look. “Ya shouldn’t be wishin’ ta get hurt, ya drongo,” He scolds, before giving Bonito another pleading look. “Mate, please jus’ lemme do this myself, aight? I know ya wanna be all clucky wid me, but it ain’t necessary roight now, okay?”

Bonito gives Mundy the saddest look they possibly can, trying to use puppy-dog eyes on him.

Mundy glares in response. “Dat ain’t gonna work on me, Roo; I’m immune to ya beggin’.”

“I don’t know, Private Mundy… they seem  _ quite  _ convincing,” John is laughing pretty hard at this point, sounding more like a kid than he has in the few days Mundy’s known him. “Better to let them get some much needed rescue training in, wouldn’t you say? No harm in practicing!”

“You both can go piss off in hell.” Mundy growls, crossing his arms with an admittedly childish huff. It’s a bit odd for him, to be getting picked up by a kid he’s considered his little sibling for over a year now, but Bonito is older than him, so he supposes they deserve a turn being in charge… he wouldn’t mind a short break.

John chuckles again, before abruptly quieting, eyes transfixed on something behind the other children. “…We should go,” He says, tone uncharacteristically serious. He grabs one of Bonito’s shirt sleeves, tugging on it as he tries to corral the others back to the RV. “Come on, soldiers, we can set up our base in another location, just like I advised; so long as it’s far,  _ far  _ away from here!”

Sensing their youngest companion’s fear, Bonito sets Mundy back down, tilting their head at the child soldier, while the Australian looks around in turn, trying to see what’s freaking John out so bad. “What’s wrong, mate?” Mundy asks, eyes not even looking at John, still searching his surroundings for danger. Everything  _ looks  _ normal… what’s got the ankle biter so wigged out? “Ya see somethin’ weird out there?”

John just shakes his head, now grabbing Mundy as well, using all his strength to try and pull the older kids to the RV, but again, he isn’t all that strong compared to them. “We need to go!  _ Now!”  _ He insists, though oddly enough he doesn’t shout, as if he’s afraid of being overheard.

“John, what’s wrong?” Mundy repeats, stopping his search to focus on the younger boy. He sets his hands on John’s shoulders, silently hoping he comes off as authoritative and put together like his dad does when he tries to be serious. “She’ll be apples, mate, don’t worry… whatever it is, you can trust us, I promise.”

John hesitates, looking between Mundy and a spot behind him, before he sighs in defeat. “Alright, I’ll tell you… but only once we’re in the tank, understand? This is confidential information we’re dealing with here.”

Mundy would be tempted to laugh at the drama of it all weren’t he convinced that something is terribly wrong. “Okay mate, whatever ya say… let’s bail, Bon.” He says, gesturing for Bonito to follow him.

After picking back up the blanket they’d used to subdue Mundy earlier, Bonito runs to catch up with their friends, and it’s only once they’re all back in the RV, and the door is shut and locked tight, that John relaxes, but only a fraction. “Soldiers, we’re being followed.” John deadpans, not wasting anymore time now that he and his friends are out of sight of their stalker.

“Followed? By who?” Mundy asks, confused. Internally, he feels his insides freeze with fear, terrified at the thought that the police may’ve finally tracked them down.

“Come see for yourself,” John orders, moving to the nearest window. He crouches on the floor, waiting for Bonito and Mundy to do the same before he peeks outside, showing as little of himself as possible to the outside world… which he fails at, as Mundy’s fairly certain anyone could spot John’s ginormous helmet from a mile away. “You see that blue car over there? Seems suspicious, doesn’t it?” The boy points at a car across the street, ducking back down once he’s certain that Mundy sees it, too.

Mundy gives the car in question a thorough once-over. At first, he has no bloody idea what the hell John was going on about, as it seems like an everyday Dodge Coronet, however, as he looks closer, he feels a wave of dread hit him like a freight train. Despite the sides of the car being covered in a temporary coating of paint, the Australian can see that the color’s somewhat off, compared to the rest of the vehicle. Not only that, but a small, uneven bump in the car’s roof suggests that a light is typically kept there, but was removed for stealth purposes. Mundy just  _ stares  _ at the cop car in disguise, eyes wide as he realizes that there are two police officers inside of it- in civilian clothes, of course- that are staring at the RV, one using binoculars to watch while the other man says something into a walkie-talkie. In a mad dash, Mundy runs for the wheel of the RV, accidentally knocking John to the floor in his rush, but the child soldier doesn’t fault him, instead scrambling for his satchel. The strap broke yesterday evening, after Mundy swung it too hard in a mock-fight with the younger boy, but that doesn’t mean his belongings aren’t still kept in there. John soon pulls out a slingshot from inside the bag, as well as a leather coin purse that’s filled with stones. In the meantime, Bonito is still confused, giving Mundy a concerned look from their spot still sitting on the floor.

“We’ve gotta get outta ‘ere!” Mundy shouts, and without anymore warning, he hits the gas, taking off like a bat out of hell. Without so much as a sound, the police cruiser follows after them from a distance, though everyone involved knows that won’t last forever.

* * *

The loud roar of police cruisers is overwhelming, so much so that despite it being ill-advised, Mundy puts on the radio, cranking it as loud as he possibly can. He wants to pretend that nothing is wrong right now, that he’s not afraid, but truth be told, he’s damn near petrified, his small hands practically  _ glued  _ to the steering wheel. He gave up on using the toilet plunger to hit the gas early into the drive, having John loosely duck tape a brick to it to save him the trouble. Speaking of the child soldier, he’s taken to pacing up and down the length of the RV, his slingshot held in a deathgrip. On occasion, the youngest boy glances out the back window, checking on the car chase, but otherwise he keeps up his pacing, occasionally falling over when Mundy abruptly swerves the car, but he doesn’t fuss, aware that they don’t have the luxury of slowly cruising right now. As John does this, Bonito proves themselves full of surprises; Mundy expected them to lay on the bed and cry for the entire drive, and while they definitely have been sobbing on off, they’ve also been fiddling with something at the very back of the RV, messing with bottles of rubbing alcohol and a box of cloth. Mundy’s no fool, he  _ knows  _ that Bonnie’s more than likely making a molotov cocktail back there, what with their history of arson, but for the sake of his own sanity, the boy refuses to ask about it, preoccupying him by driving.

Not that it’s hard to stay focused on the road right now. Despite having crossed state lines over an hour ago, most if not all of the cop cars they found in Arizona are still following the RV, alongside a number of New Mexico cruisers. Although it’s a very stupid and arogant thing to feel prideful over, Mundy’s a bit smug that he’s got at least three or four more cars chasing him than the last time he was found to be carjacking. The happiness doesn’t last though, if it was ever there at all, the atmosphere just too ominous and stressful to feel anything but claustrophobic. John’s offered to take over driving a few times now, but Mundy keeps turning him down, not wanting the younger boy to even  _ try  _ driving,  _ especially  _ when he refuses to take off his oversized helmet. Besides, considering the fact that the Australian is dead certain this chase is going to end in him crashing the RV and getting them all damn near killed, he’d much prefer if he was the only one responsible for their fate, rather than risk John having survivor’s guilt if he gets Mundy killed. About an hour after turning on the radio, there’s a loud crackling from inside of it, and just like that, the bloody thing busts on the inside, the sound of soft and loving country music dying without so much as a shout. Huffing under his breath, Mundy glares at the radio, tempted to smack it, but he can’t convince himself to let go of the wheel to do so.

“Shoddy piece ‘a rubbish.” Mundy mutters, trying to spit at the broken radio, but his mouth is too dry from stress to make it worthwhile, so he gives up and sulks in bitter silence.

“Who told Johnny Cash he could stop singing yet!?” John asks, his voice a shout as he abruptly runs to the radio, fulfilling Mundy’s wish by giving it a few hard smacks. “Does he not understand that his lulling voice is all that is keeping me from going feral!?”

“Ya mean ya ain’t already, mate?” Mundy questions, wanting to laugh, but he doesn’t have it in him at the moment. “Afraid the radio’s busted, Roo… oughta jus’ leave it be.”

“If we survive this battle- which we most assuredly will, because we will live forever- I shall hunt down Johnny Cash myself, look him in the eye, tell him his music is my favorite music ever, and then punch his lights out for letting me down at my lowest moment!” John explains with all of the self-assured confidence a ten-year-old can possess.

“Mate, if we survive this mess, I’ll drive ya to his place  _ myself,” _ Mundy promises, sighing low in his throat as he glares at the road, the sun having long since gone down, making the RV’s headlights his own source of light other than the occasional streetlight. “Awful bloody highway, city’s too damn poor ta even afford more streetlights; ya gonna get some drongo killed, ya blokes!”

John squints in turn, having to push up his helmet to get a better look at the road, his crystal blue eyes full of frustration. “This highway is a disgrace to our fair country,” He says, agreeing wholeheartedly with Mundy’s bitter sentiment. “Were it not for the laws of this land, I would give the mayor a piece of my mind!”

Mundy stifles a laugh, John’s continued rambling putting him just the slightest bit at ease, even if the shameless din of sirens grows louder all around him, the radio no longer able to block any of the noise out. “Well, seein’ as we’re bein’ chased all the way inta hell, ya jus’ might get the chance, mate.” Mundy points out, sparing the other boy a sly smile.

As John opens his mouth to respond to that, he glances outside, only to lose his cool completely. “Great flipping hamburgers, we’re  _ surrounded!” _ He screams, falling over in his desperation to get down.

Mundy shouts in surprise, nearly hurting himself in his hastiness to hit the brakes. “Crickey! Hold on back there!” He shouts his only warning, slamming both feet on the brakes and swerving to the left, just  _ barely  _ keeping himself from crashing the car right into a wall of cop cruisers; he didn’t even see them coming, too distracted by John’s conversation to notice them sooner.

As the dust settles and police officers swarm the RV, there’s an ear-piercing screech of a megaphone going haywire, before whoever is wielding it gets it under control again. “Testing testing, one two three!” A woman’s voice calls out as she tests the equipment, her voice loud and clear as all the cars turn off their sirens, though the lights keep flashing excessively. “Hello there, boys! I’m sure all three of you are  _ very  _ scared right now, but I just wanna talk, okay? My name is Mrs. Jennifer, and trust me, I’m on  _ your  _ side.”

All three children exchange a look, aware that they’ve now entered a standoff, their car’s door locked and keeping the cops at bay, though they haven’t tried to get in yet, letting this Jennifer woman try to talk the kids into surrendering first. Slowly, Mundy goes to the back window of the car, propping it open enough to look outside more effectively. Stretching out behind the vehicle are heaps and heaps of police cars, the flashing of blue and red making his vision blur even worse than it usually does; he’s really starting to think he needs glasses. Soon enough, the boy’s eyes readjust, and he sees at least forty some police officers gathered behind his home on wheels, most of them creating a wall with riot shields behind the RV; he can only imagine the same arrangement is in front of the car by now, trapping them on the road. Mundy looks around, trying to get an idea of where he is, finding that he and the others are now trapped in a rocky valley with no roof, as on either side of the road are tall, dark orange rock walls that tower at least thirty feet over the street. Dry-swallowing, Mundy glances back at the swarm of blue heelers in front of him, and through the sea of cerulean and black, he sees a well-dressed woman standing on top of one of the many cars, holding the very megaphone that was used to shout at him earlier. She must be Jennifer.

“Hello there, sweetie,” Jennifer greets, giving Mundy a smile that the boy can barely even see through the darkness of the night. “I’m guessing you’re one of the missing boys, aren’t you? It’s okay, honey, no one’s gonna hurt you, but I need you to cooperate with me, okay? Now, what’s your name, sweetie? Are you Johnathan, Bonito, or Kevin?”

Mundy hesitates, before forcing himself to answer the sheila. “Um… I’m Mundy. Kevin Mundy.” He says, hating how skittish his voice sounds to his own ears.

Jennifer nods, still smiling. “You’re Kevin? Okay, little guy; thanks for answering me,” Surprisingly enough, she praises him for cooperating, but Mundy can quickly sense a shift in her attitude as she continues to speak. “You know you’re in a lot of trouble, right Kevin? You’ve done a lot of  _ very  _ bad things, from stealing a car to breaking out of juvy, it seems you’ve been on quite the adventure, haven’t you? It’s time to stop playing, Kevin. What you’ve done, it’s  _ completely  _ unacceptable, and you’re lucky you haven’t gotten someone killed by now. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, young man?”

“I hear ya loud ‘n clear, miss,” Mundy assures, though he despises how damn  _ condescending  _ Jennifer is towards him, hating her tone more than anything else on earth. “But how ‘bout  _ you  _ try understandin’  _ me, _ huh? The law ain’t been kind to any ‘a us, not since we was  _ born, _ ‘n I ain’t got any intention of surrenderin’ without a fight. Ya hear me, sheila? I ain’t lettin’ you take us back to no bloody prison ta rot ‘n die!”

“This isn’t a  _ game, _ Kevin,” Jennifer repeats, and yeah, Mundy can hear the irritation in her tone by now. “You’ve broken a  _ lot  _ of adult laws, and there  _ have  _ to be consequences for that; we can’t just let you off without repercussions for your actions.”

“Well, ya could if ya bloody wanted to,” Mundy has no reservations against backsassing this lady, his own patience running just as dry as hers, if not dryer. “Look, how ‘bout we strike a deal, miss? If ya let me ‘n my mates off without beatin’ or arrestin’ us, ‘n let us go live wid me folks Barbara and James Mundy, we won’t cause no more trouble, I swear on my  _ life  _ we won’t.”

There’s a long pause, where Mundy can hear Jennifer talking to the police officers, though she covers the megaphone’s speaker to keep from being overheard. Although it’s a tad foolish, he can’t help but get excited, praying that he’ll be allowed to go home; sure, Dad is going to whoop his arse for sure, but it’ll be worth it, if it means he can go home. Yes, even though Mundy is still dealing with the after-effects of his breakdown from earlier, he now knows that his family abruptly moving, and the coppers waiting for them at the house, it  _ couldn’t  _ have been a coincidence. Considering the reason for his last carjacking, the police likely put two and two together, and knowing that the Australian boy would likely be driving back home to them, they more than likely forced his folks to move- either temporarily or permanently- in order to set up a trap for the missing children. Mundy lets himself take comfort in that thought, because he knows the cops probably asked his parents at first to stay in the house and trick him into staying until they could come arrest him, but no, his folks would  _ never  _ do that; they love him, and by god, Mundy  _ refuses  _ to stop believing in that, even if his belief waned not too long ago. He’s calmer now, and if the world will allow it, he’ll go home and be with his family again, hopefully with his new siblings by his side. Mum and Dad would love them, just like they love their son.

Eventually, Jennifer responds to Mundy’s request, but not in the way that he would’ve hoped. “No, Kevin, you don’t  _ get  _ to just walk away from this without consequences, not after all the trouble you’ve caused. Your last foster family is  _ not  _ going to take you home so you can just run away again; in fact, they’re  _ never  _ going to see you again, seeing as you think it’s appropriate to endanger the public by stealing vehicles and shoplifting.”

Mundy feels a deep anger bubbling in his chest, making his stomach ache with the force of it. “Then get stuffed, ya bloody fuckstick!” He shouts, wanting to throw something, but he doesn’t have anything to use as ammunition.

“Kevin,  _ enough  _ of this!” Jennifer snaps, finally losing her temper with the boy. “Listen to me and listen well; you have _ one  _ hour to leave that car with your friends, but if you don’t, we’ll be forced to break the door down and smash windows in order to drag you all out. Do you want that, young man? No, I don’t think so, so you’d better start reconsidering your attitude, or things will get much,  _ much  _ worse for you  _ very  _ soon.” With that, she’s done negotiating, stepping off of the car and allowing the police officers to take over.

As promised, the police are giving him time to surrender, but if the pulling out of batons is any indication of their plans, Mundy doubts this will end peacefully, even  _ if  _ he chooses to give up. A bit weak in the knees, he turns around and sits on the floor, his whole body shaky with dread as the situation sinks in. “Oh god,” He whispers, his voice croaky and on the edge of tears. “Oh god, oh god, oh god… we’re gonna die ‘ere, ‘r worse, we’re gonna be behind bars for a hundred million years!”

“Don’t worry, Private Mundy, we’re not going to prison,” John says, grinning at the other boy as he plops down beside him, waving his slingshot a bit excitedly. “No, we’ll more than likely be sent to yet another communist brainwashing facility, but you have no need to worry, as I have escaped one before, and now have extensive knowledge in their nefarious ways. Now, allow me to go through a very brief, one hour long run-through of how to survive without going completely insane, as they will more than likely separate and torture us in different facilities! Step one, don’t panic or show fear, as they feed off of it. Step two-”

“-I’mma stop ya roight there, ya lil’ ankle biter,” Mundy says, and with John distracted, he snatches the slingshot out of his hand. “And I’mma borrow dis, too!”

“Hey, give that back!” John snaps, voice high and full of rage as he tries to wrestle the older boy for the weapon, but Mundy holds him away from himself with ease, a hand on the shorter boy’s chest keeping him away from the slingshot. “You do  _ not  _ take things from a superior officer, private! Do you want to be court-martialed? Because this is how you get court-martialed!”

“Don’t worry, mate, I ain’t gonna use it for anythin’ but justice,” Mundy says, which calms John down pretty damn quick. He smiles with gratitude, before turning to Bonito, who’s still working diligently on their project, appearing unperturbed by the standoff that’s happening outside. “Oi, Bonnie, got anythin’ there dat can give us a lil’ more firepower? I think I’ve got a plan.”

Bonito nods, quick to hand over what was once an empty Coca Cola bottle, but it’s been filled with rubbing alcohol, a long white cloth sticking out of the bottle’s mouth, long enough to soak up quite a lot of the alcohol inside. They smirk as Mundy looks it over in his hands, the mute more than a little proud of themself for making it on such short notice.

“I reckon I oughta not ask how ya know how ta make dis beauty?” Mundy asks, receiving a solemn nod in response. “Roight… well, ‘ere goes nothin’,” He stands back up, taking John by the hand and forcing him to his feet, before crouching in front of the younger boy, trying to look like a stern but loving older brother. “Now Johnny, I need ya ta do somethin’  _ real  _ important ‘ere… in a minute, I’mma get back in the driver’s seat, ‘n I’m gonna hit the gas as hard as I can, alroight? I need ya ta take dat molotov ‘n chuck it as hard as ya can back at dem cars, ‘n den ya gotta use ya slingshot ta hit as many people as ya can, ya got dat? I know it’s real bloody scary, the position we’re in, but you’re a soldier, ain’t ya? I believe in ya, Private Doe… ya  _ gotta  _ do this, for  _ America’s freedom!”  _ Mundy feels a bit shitty for using John’s love of all things America against him, but he can’t really afford for the kid to not listen to him right now, so he’ll use anything he can to convince the ankle biter to help out.

Of course, John wears a wide, eager grin after hearing Mundy’s spiel, taking the slingshot and molotov cocktail without any hesitation. “You can count on me, Private Mundy!” He promises, bouncing in place he’s so dang excited.

“Thata boy!” Mundy praises, standing up and patting John’s helmet in encouragement. He then glances at Bonito, who looks just as determined to help as John does. “Ya got anymore ‘a dem molotovs, Roo?” He asks, and after receiving a nod, he relaxes a fraction, glad they’ll have more than just rocks after John throws the first molotov. “Once John tosses the first one, ya think ya can help ‘im toss ‘em? Afraid I’ll be too busy drivin’ ta help none.”

Bonito smiles with such love in their eyes, that were it not for the seriousness of their situation, Mundy would hug them with all his might. They then nod again, confirming that they’re more than ready to help in any way they can.

“Okay, seems we’ve got ourselves settled then,” Mundy says, stalling a moment longer, his throat tight with anxiety again, but he makes himself say what he needs to, just in case it’s his last chance to tell his family how he feels about them. “Bonnie, John, if we don’t make it outta dis one… I love ya cobbers more den anybody else, ya got dat? Ya both drive me ta actin’ like a real bogan some days, but I love ya nonetheless, ‘n I  _ swear, _ I’mma get us outta here, alroight? ‘N if we die tonight… I’m  _ sorry.  _ Not jus’ for gettin’ us inta this mess, but for not bein’ a better big brother to ya both, even though Bon’s older den me. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve yelled, all the times I’ve been too clucky, all the times I wasn’t good enough… I’m so,  _ so  _ sor-” He doesn’t get the chance to finish apologizing, as rather abruptly, Bonito stands up and hugs him.

John does the same from behind Mundy, his grip ironclad yet soft. “That’s not going to happen, soldier,” He promises, trying so hard to stay positive, but the older boy can hear the slight fear in his voice. “We’re going to  _ survive, _ you got that? I promised Colonel Kennedy I’d be the greatest soldier to ever live, and I can’t go down this early, not when there are so many more wars to win for America and Democracy! We  _ will  _ survive this, Private Mundy, I promise!”

Mundy doesn’t even try to fight it, letting out a sob as he hugs Bonito back, making sure to hold John’s hands once he finds them in the group hug. He just cries and cries for a few minutes, wishing he had the power to stop all of this madness, to teleport them away from here and into the arms of his parents, but he knows he doesn’t. Whether he likes it or not, the police have most of the power in this situation, but instead of being empathetic and hearing him out, maybe agreeing to send him home on the condition he stays under house arrest until he’s eighteen, they’ve chosen to treat him like rubbish, with no sympathy for his or his mates’ plights. If they capture the children anytime soon, they’ll separate them right away, making sure that they’ll never see each other again, so long as they’re in the prison system. Then, Mundy and Bonito will be sent to separate jails- perhaps adult ones, with much longer sentences added to their previous convictions- and John will be sent to another mental ward, and that’s if he’s deemed insane enough to avoid prison time. At this point though, Mundy won’t be surprised if these cops want an excuse to shoot them all instead, as that would be so much easier than keeping them alive. Hell, who says they won’t all be shot to death the minute they’re out of the RV? The thought makes Mundy cry even harder, not wanting to lose his family so soon after forming it.

After another ten minutes of hugging and crying- thirty-five more minutes until the police kill them all- Bonito, surprisingly enough, is the one to end the hug. They pause for a moment, hands planted on Mundy’s shoulders as they stare into his eyes, before they wear a shaky smile, tears coursing down their cheeks. “I… I  _ love  _ you, Munny-Bunny.” They whisper, voice shaky and weak from a lack of use; offhandedly, Mundy can just make out a slight lisp from what little his best friend has said.

Mundy takes a deep, wet breath, struggling to hold onto any sort of composure. “I know, Roo… I love ya, too. I always have, ‘n I always will. Even when I’m bloody dead, I’m still gonna love ya, no matter where we end up after dis rubbish is finished,” He forces himself to start pulling away from the embrace- the sooner they leave, the better- though he spares a moment to lock eyes with John, noticing that tears are streaming down his face from under his helmet. With a great tenderness, Mundy wipes away the tears with his left thumb; at first, John flinches away from him, but upon realizing that it doesn’t hurt, he leans into the older boy’s touch, discovering that it feels nice to be given affection. “You still gonna be our lil’ sniper, Johnny?” Mundy asks, letting himself smile warmly at John.

John nods, his chin quivering. He pushes Mundy’s hand away, rubbing at his face with his jacket sleeve. “Yes, sir,” He promises, looking far too much like the child soldier he’s trying to become, not that Mundy is going to say anything about it. “I swear, I’ll shoot ‘em all dead, just you watch!”

“Won’t be able to watch none, but I know you’ll do jolly good, mate,” Mundy murmurs, before glancing at Bonito one last time. “You ready, Roo?” After receiving a nod, he copies it. “Roight… come on, let’s give ‘em hell on our way there.”

As Mundy climbs back into the driver’s seat of the RV, he takes another deep breath, shakier than he’d like to be when breathing… but he has to get his family out of here, despite the odds being stacked against him; he’s going to get them out of here, even if that means he might not make it out alive. “Okay, ya larrikins,” He says, raising his voice so Bonito and John will hear him better. “On da count ‘a three, ya throw dat molotov as hard as ya can, ya got dat? We’ll see how dey like a lil’ fire!”

Bonito hums and claps with glee, turning towards John to take the homemade grenade from him, but the soldier won’t let them have it, going so far as to stick his tongue out at Bonnie when they make a grab for the molotov.  _ “No, _ you  _ can’t  _ throw this one; Private Mundy said it’s  _ my  _ turn first, ya got that?  _ Mine!”  _ When Bonnie keeps going for it, John growls, shouting to Mundy for help. “Private Mundy, Private Bonito is trying to take  _ my  _ molotov!”

“Bonnie, wait ya bloody turn, ya hoon,” Mundy scolds, but he’s smiling all the while, glad his friends are not so anxious that they can’t tease each other before the war really starts. “You’ll get ta throw plenty yaself, just let Johnny have his turn first.”

Bonito gives an audible huff, pouting as they cross their arms, while John has the gall to blow a raspberry at them.  _ “Ha!  _ I  _ told  _ you!” He mocks, prideful now that Mundy’s taken his side in the debate. Not that he keeps up the teasing for very long, as he soon opens the back window, seeing as Mundy closed it earlier, the short boy sticking most of his body out the window to holler at his foes. “Hey, ya damn commies! What’s big, hot, and has the best color from the American flag on it? The Statue of Liberty if you squint at it too hard, but Lady Liberty isn’t here, so I’ll do her the favor and fight socialism for her!” Then, without waiting for Mundy’s permission, he tosses the molotov directly at one of the cop cars, which explodes rather quickly, as Bonito made it with all the firepower of a bloody pipe bomb.

“John, ya fuckin’ dickhead, I didn’t bloody  _ count  _ yet!” Mundy screams, but he hits the gas regardless, maneuvering the brick back into it’s position from earlier so he can focus on turning.

John just laughs his ass off from the back of the car, Bonito forced to grab the boy before he can be sent flying by the RV’s sudden jump forward, wordlessly pulling their youngest friend back into the car before the kid can get himself killed. As sirens begin blaring again, Mundy frantically swerves the car back towards the wall of cars that made him stop to begin with, and without any sympathy for the policemen outside after the way he’s been treated, he smashes through the barrier, secretly glad that the coppers all had the good sense to jump out of the way of the runaway car. From there, it’s absolute chaos, with Mundy screaming obscenities as he desperately tries to keep from smashing the RV into the rock walls on either side of him, though he doesn’t always succeed, getting a variety of new dings and scratches on the sides of his beloved home. Bonito and John keep the fight going in the back, the former throwing as many molotovs as they possibly can, letting out a monstrously sinister laugh as they do so, while the latter keeps firing rocks with his slingshot, missing more often than not, but Mundy isn’t all that worried, as Bonnie and John are just meant to be a deterrent. However, they soon have to knock off their attacks, as to their dismay, the police have begun opening fire on them, the RV managing to absorb most of the gunfire, the metal too thick to be anything but dented so far.

As Bonito and John duck for cover in the back, the mute snatching up their Balloonicorn and hugging her to their chest for comfort, Mundy keeps up his shouting from the driver’s seat. “Crickey, they’re  _ really  _ tryin’ ta kill us now,” He comments, a nervous laugh bubbling from his throat, his anxiety being overridden by a desire to make his friends feel less afraid of what’s to come. His hands are wet with sweat by now, struggling to keep their grip on the steering wheel. “Suppose we haven’t many options left, seein’ as dis bloody valley goes on forever… any ‘a yous got an idea back there?”

“Yes!” John says, running upfront to look around. Out of nowhere he grins, pointing at something Mundy can’t quite make out further up the road. “There, the flapping of a large cloth; a secret government hideout! Run into that wall, Private Mundy!”

“What are ya, bloody  _ daft!?  _ I ain’t offin’ us like dat, mate!” Mundy argues, and as John tries to take a wheel, he wrestles with him for it, his stressful state making it harder to win this time around. “Stop shovin’, Johnny! Go on, get back ta the back, ya fuckin’ drongo!”

“You can thank me for my service later, Private Mundy,” John assures, clambering onto Mundy’s lap by force to try and drive the RV, swerving it straight towards what Mundy believes is a solid rock wall. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get us to safety in no time flat!  _ For America!” _

As they’re just about to hit the wall, Mundy unable to turn the RV in time, he picks John up with all his strength, and without much forethought and being fueled by adrenaline, he tosses the boy into the back of the vehicle. To the Australian’s shock, the car doesn’t hit a wall at all, blasting past a huge cloth. However, he’s not out of trouble yet, as to the boy’s horror, the RV is now speeding towards a huge building’s garage, and there’s no way he can stop it in time. In a frenzy, Mundy turns heel, trying to run into the back of the vehicle to escape the worst of the crash, but it’s too late, as while the boy is stepping forward to run for his life, they hit their unintentional target. Almost immediately, the scent of alcohol and smoke fills the air- Bonito must’ve dropped a match into their bomb making spot, starting a fire- and as the ceiling caves in, Mundy is sent falling to the floor, the sound of his friends screaming all he can hear. Once most of the noise starts to die off, he tries to stand up, but his head hurts so bad, an excess of carbon monoxide and head trauma making it impossible to get back up. Struggling to breathe, the boy lies still, feeling himself fading. The last thing Mundy sees before his world goes black is Bonnie in the rubble, the roof of the RV caved in on top of them. He tries to reach forward, to grab one of their hands as proof to whoever finds them that they were family and that they loved each other as such, but he loses consciousness before he can do so, the world dark and cold within mere moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second scene of this fic took so fucking long to write, I’m so sorry for the wait, y’all. No joke, but it took over three fucking tries to write it, so I’m sorry if it isn’t great, but I tried my best. Either way, the next chapter should be the last one of this fic; I hope you’re all just as excited as I am to finish the trio’s backstory! See y’all next time!


	5. Glasses and Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the finale of this fic! Don’t worry, this isn’t the end of the AU; in fact, it feels like the very beginning, now that I have most of the backstory stuff finished! I’ll have a poll at the end of this chapter, so please, if you have the time, please follow the link at the end of this fic to vote for what you’d like to see next (you get 2 votes)! In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“Ja, so just look at zis sign fery carefully, and tell me vhat numbers you can read,” Medic’s voice is softer than cotton when speaking to the boy, though not quite as condescending as one might fear, as if he’s worked with children before. “If you cannot read anyzing at all, zen you let me know right avay. Verstehst du?” When he only gets a befuddled look, the doctor chuckles, tickled by his own slip up. “My apologies. Vhat I meant to say vas, do you understand?”

A bit cautiously, Mundy nods, unnerved despite Medic being a rather nice man to him since they’ve met. “Y-Yeah, I think so, sir.” He says, hating himself for stuttering, so much so that he bites the inside of his cheek to try and make it bleed as revenge for humiliating him.

Unfortunately for Mundy, but fortunately for everyone who cares about him, Medic notices what he’s doing almost right away. Very lightly, he pats the preteen’s chin, though it doesn’t hurt in the slightest. “Do  _ not  _ do zat,” The doctor orders sternly, giving Mundy a short glare. “You should not bite yourselv, understand? Zere is no need to eat yourselv up over small mistakes… literally, in zis case,” Again, he laughs, something that his patient is beginning to suspect is a nervous habit. “Alrighty zen, enough of zat; let us begin ze test, ja?”

“Okay,” Mundy agrees, and with all his strength, he squints at the poster across the room from him, reading out as many letters as he can while Medic uses a ruler to direct his eyes. “The top row is E, the second row is FP, the third row is TOZ, the fourth row is LPED, the fifth row is PECFD,” He rattles off the first few rows quickly, feeling a bit proud of himself, but as he continues, he starts to struggle. “Um… the next row is, uh, EDFC… ZP?” When Medic nods, Mundy does the same, though he has a feeling this won’t end in his favor. “Okay, now it’s FELO…  _ FELO… PSB?” _

“PZD,” Medic corrects, his brows furrowed with worry. He points to the next row, giving Mundy a smile to try and make him feel less nervous. “How about ze next line, Mundy?” He encourages his patient to keep trying, despite the fact that it’s obvious the boy will fail; he just needs to see how serious Mundy’s vision problem is.

Mundy wants to argue, but he holds his tongue, afraid of getting in trouble for disobeying the doctor’s orders. “The next row says… it says…” He leans forward as much as he can while sitting on the hospital cot, but it doesn’t help at all. “DEE…” Upon seeing Medic’s concerned face, he huffs, shaking his head in defeat. “It’s no use, doc… I can’t read it.”

“Zat’s fine, Mundy,” Medic says, setting aside his ruler in favor of grabbing a clipboard and pen, beginning to jot down some notes. “Just as I suspected, it seems you are in dire need of some glasses. Rest assured zat I can make zem vithin minutes, so you vill no longer be valkink around half blind. Von’t zat be excitink?” He turns to look at Mundy, only for his smile to drop entirely.  _ “Mundy? _ Kinder, vat’s ze matter?  _ Was ist passiert?” _

Mundy just sobs with a defeated tone in his throat, tears trailing down his face in excess. “I’m s-such a bloody  _ failure,” _ He mumbles, disappointed in himself for now having better eyesight. “Wh-What kinda true blue am I if I can’t see none? No wonder I crashed the damn RV… I’m such a  _ drongo.” _

Medic sets his clipboard on the nearest desk, hurrying over to comfort the boy. He crouches on the floor in front of Mundy, so that he’s now taller than the doctor, before taking the child’s hands in his, rubbing them gently with his thumbs. “Mundy, zere’s nothink to be ashamed of…  _ many  _ people need glasses. You do not see me complainink about mine own, do you?” He tries to laugh, but he stays sober for the kid’s sake. “I understand your unease, Kleiner, but you are not lesser for needink glasses. Für lautes Schreien, some Kinder are made to vear glasses at even younger ages zan  _ you! _ So please, zere is no need to cry. You are still allowed to, of course, but you don't hafe to… here, let me make you your new glasses, ja? Do you vant a special color for ze… ze…” Medic snaps his fingers a few times while in deep thought, before finally remembering the word he’s looking for in English.  _ “Frames!  _ Do you vant special colored frames, Mundy?” He smiles as he asks this, standing back up to go to a large machine in the back of the infirmary, though he remains within hearing distance of his patient.

Mundy shakes his head while wiping away his tears, but seeing as Medic isn’t looking directly at him, he forces himself to give a verbal answer. “N-Not really, sir… but cheers.” He manages, his bottom lip quivering as he struggles to regain his composure.

Medic makes no comment on Mundy’s stuttering, aware that the poor kid can’t help it. “Good, because I only now realize zat I hafe no other colors zan black…  _ oopsies.”  _ He giggles, obviously trying to get the child in his company to do the same.

It actually does get a small chuckle out of the boy, Mundy shaking his head in disbelief at the doctor’s silliness. When he first arrived here, and was only waking up in sporadic bursts, he was absolutely  _ terrified  _ of Medic, as he had no idea what to make of the mad doctor. But to his shock, the German has been nothing but kind to him and his friends; sure, he got a bit frustrated a few days ago when he and Bonito snuck out to get something better to eat than protein bars, but he never hit either of them for disobeying his orders. In all honesty,  _ all  _ of the adults in this place have been surprising Mundy left and right, as he keeps waiting for the hammer to fall, for one of them to lose their patience and beat him or the other kids for misbehaving, but the most they ever do is lecture them for whatever they did and send them to their rooms for an hour or so. No whipping, no slapping, no screaming… it’s so _ strange, _ Mundy can barely wrap his head around it all. He’s not ungrateful, mind you, he’s just…  _ cautious.  _ He wants to relax and have fun like Bonnie and John do, but it’s so _ hard,  _ especially when he’s spent all this time training himself to be careful. How is he supposed to let that all go at the drop of a hat? How is he supposed to trust adults just because they tell him it’ll be okay? Mundy doesn’t plan on misbehaving to test their patience, but he’s going to stay on his toes until he’s certain it’s safe.

After only a few minutes of tapping away on a huge computer, Medic returns to the examination room, holding up a pair of round-framed, kid sized glasses, an excited smile on his face. “Alles erledigt! Your new glasses are complete; I simply had to copy ze code for mine own, modify it, and run it zrough ze teleporter! Here you are, Mundy,” He stops his stride directly in front of the child, and very gently, he pushes the pair of glasses onto his face, making sure they fit correctly before backing off a few steps. “Hm… how do zose vork? Can you see any better now?”

Mundy blinks a few times, before a smile begins to fill his face. “I… yeah, I  _ can.  _ Everythin’ was so  _ blurry  _ before, but now I can see everythin’ clear as crystal!”

Medic chuckles, amused by the boy’s unbridled excitement, relieved that he was able to get a genuinely happy reaction from the kid. “Fery good! You know, you look  _ fery  _ dashink in zose, ze other Kinder vill be  _ so  _ jealous!” Humming a tune under his breath, the doctor then grabs a jar from one of his many counters, holding it out to Mundy. “Vould you like a Lutscher? Don’t be embarrassed to take one, even Shpy gets one vhen he behaves for a check-up, but between you and me, he doesn’t earn zem fery often; zat man is such a baby vhen it comes to needles!”

Mundy laughs outright at that, hardly able to imagine such a stern and collected man as Spy being afraid to get a shot. “Alright, mate,” He agrees, a lot more at ease now that the appointment is finally ending, plus it also feels good to see clearly again, the Australian having not seen this well since he was around seven or so! “Uh… I’ll take this one please!” He says, taking one of the bright red ones.

“Cherry, ze best flafor; you hafe good taste!” Medic praises, unlocking and opening the door for his patient as Mundy hops down from the cot. “Now come back and see me if anythink happens to zose glasses, ja? I can make plenty more vithout trouble, so you may play as rough as you’d like, and if you get an injury of any kind, I vill be  _ more  _ zan happy to vix you right up! Haben Sie einen guten Tag!”

As the door closes behind him, Mundy is tempted to throw his lollipop out, if only to preserve his dignity… but screw it, he’s not about to get rid of free candy, especially when the candy is his favorite flavor! Once rid of the wrapper, he pops the lollipop in his mouth, smirking at the artificial but wonderful flavor of factory produced cherries that’s filled his mouth. Quietly, the boy goes on his merry way, not sure what he’ll do now that his appointment is over. It’s been about a week since the RV crashed into RED base’s garage, and ever since he woke up a few days ago, Mundy and his siblings have been living with the team of mercenaries that are stationed here. They’re an…  _ agreeable  _ sort; they’re all quite smart in their own ways, but as the preteen has begun to realize, not a one of them has any idea what to do when it comes to raising kids. Okay, scratch that, the spy obviously knows a  _ few  _ things about child rearing, but he seems almost…  _ nervous, _ like he’s used to having more experienced hands on deck with him. Maybe he’s married? That Jeremy kid talks an awful lot about, well, _ everything, _ but he’s alluded to the fact that he has some older siblings and a stay-at-home mother back home, which begs the question as to why he’s gone to war with his father. Oh well, just another weird mystery that Mundy doubts he’ll ever see solved, something he’s getting used to dealing with around here.

As weird as this place is, Mundy can’t say he doesn’t like it… it’s well fortified, and seeing as none of the adults seem keen on beating him senseless at the moment, he’s content with sticking around until things go wrong again. He knows it’ll happen eventually; sooner or later, these people are going to get sick of playing house, and they’ll throw the orphans back out on the streets in no time flat. It’s only a matter of time, but until then, Mundy is going to enjoy his newfound security. To his relief, his siblings are taking this all much better than he is, Bonito quick to bond with the kid that was already living here, as well as that handyman guy that makes really good bacon and eggs every morning. John is also doing well, which shocked Mundy at first, as he was expecting more trouble from the little ankle biter, but no, the kid seems right at home here, which honestly shouldn’t be  _ that  _ weird… he wanted to go to war, right? Well, now he’s involved in one, even if it’s not the war he wanted to end up in, not that he realizes that quite yet. Speaking of John, as Mundy is meandering in the direction of the base’s primary kitchen, intent on nabbing a quick snack, he hears a thunderous roar of laughter down the hall. In no time flat, Demoman comes barreling around the corner with John on his shoulders, the two of them laughing like madmen.

“Charge, soldier! We will destroy the commie menace!” John shouts, using a wooden sword to point Demoman in the direction he wants him to go, which is straight past Mundy.

“Ey ey, captain!” Demoman says, more than happy to keep carrying John towards his goal. However, the moment he sees Mundy, he stops dead in his tracks, and were real life like a cartoon, he would’ve kicked up a dust cloud in the process. “Oi, ‘ello there, laddie! How’d ya check-up go, huh?” He pauses, squinting his eye at Mundy, before he grins. “Well, lookit you! Nice new eyes ya got dere, boy! Why, you’re lookin’ sharp as a broadsword wid dem glecks!”

Mundy blushes, looking away in slight shame. “Um… cheers, mate.” He mutters, embarrassed by Demoman’s gawking.

Catching onto the preteen’s embarrassment, Demoman offers him a sheepish smile. “Sorry dere, me boy; I’m guessin’ ya don’t want no attention drawn to ‘em, aye?” Receiving a nod, the Scotsman frees a hand to ruffle Mundy’s hair in encouragement. “You’ve got it, laddie; no more teasin’ from ya Uncle Demo!”

Mundy resists the urge to point out that hair ruffles are also considered to be teasing in his book, but he chokes on it, not seeing a point in getting on Demoman’s bad side. Not that he would’ve had the chance to, as John soon peeks at the older boy from behind his mentor’s head, offering him a toothy grin. “Good afternoon, Private Mundy!” He greets, sounding quite delighted to see him. “How was your appointment with the field medic? Did he replace your arms and legs with guns? If he did, I call dibs on going next!”

Mundy rolls his eyes, stifling a chuckle. “Naw, mate, he just gave me some new glasses,” He explains, pointing at his face to demonstrate. “See? Now I won’t be so bloody bad at drivin’, will I?”

That gets some awkward silence from Demoman and John, who share a look, before gently, the older of the pair sets his ward back down on the floor. “Say, boys, I oughta go brew some bombs for the battle tomorrow… you laddies have a good one, aye?” With one last hair and helmet ruffle, the Scotsman is off.

Once the adult is gone, John gives Mundy a concerned look… well, as concerned a look as he can, what with his helmet covering his eyes. “Private Mundy, you  _ do  _ understand that the crash was not your fault, correct?” John asks it in a theoretical tone, but the question is anything but. _ “I _ was the one who forced the wheel out of your grasp and sent us into this base… it was a wonderful move, don’t get me wrong, and it will go down in history as one of my greatest military strategies to date, but you cannot blame yourself for what little damage was done.”

“The RV blew to shite, John.” Mundy deadpans without missing a beat.

“Yes, it did indeed go off like a bomb after it was dislodged from the garage door,” John doesn’t try to deny it, but he doesn’t let his friend get away with the subject change either. “My point still stands, Private Mundy. We’re all alive still, aren’t we? Believe it or not, that can be enough… now all we have to worry about is fighting commies, ending wars, and retiring as heroes! Won’t that be great, soldier?”

Mundy gives John a glare for the trouble, not appreciating his rant. “Jus’ rack off, Johnny; I ain’t in the mood.” To prove this, he begins walking away, wanting nothing to do with John until he’s cooled off.

“But I’m trying to cure your survivor’s guilt!” John argues, jogging to keep up with Mundy. “It’s a serious issue that even the greatest of soldiers can be afflicted by!”

“I don’t got no survivor’s guilt, ya lil’ ankle biter,” Mundy snaps, sneering at the younger boy. But just as quickly as it came, he drops the attitude, as the last thing he wants to do is lash out at his little brother… even if he  _ is  _ being a real mongrel right now. “Look, Johnny, I jus’ wanna be alone roight now, got dat? Now please, mate… jus’ leave me be.”

To Mundy’s relief, John obeys his order, simply nodding before he walks away, though he keeps glancing back over his shoulder at the older boy. This, unfortunately, knocks him right into Jeremy, who falls backwards upon impact. “Ouch!” Jeremy yelps, glaring at John for the trouble. “Watch where you’re goin’, Johnny!” The kid then stops, noticing Mundy at the other end of the hallway. He grins, jumping to his feet in a hurry. “Hey, Mundy, you wanna-” Jeremy goes to run after the Australian, but gets stopped by John before he can start running.

“Leave him be, soldier,” John says, his voice lacking the sort of conviction Mundy usually expects from him. “He needs his alone time.”

“Oh… then do  _ you  _ wanna play with me?” Jeremy asks, simply moving to the next available party.

“Of course, but only if by  _ ‘play’  _ you mean  _ ‘train for war’!”  _ John goes right back to being his excitable self, now that he has a new playmate. “Come, Private Scout; let’s patrol the vicinity before beginning our spy assassination training!”

Mundy doesn’t hear whatever Jeremy says next, too busy hurrying for his room as fast as possible, though he’s careful not to actually run, just in case Spy or Heavy is within hearing distance; they always tell him and the others not to run unless it’s an emergency or they’re in the gymnasium. Soon enough, the boy reaches his bedroom, and yet, despite it being where he sleeps every night, he’s still getting used to referring to it as his own space. Opening the door, Mundy is greeted by the sight of a large, adult-sized bunk bed on the far end of the room, which he and Bonito share (much as he loves his best friend, the younger of the two did nab the top bunk first). There aren’t a lot of decorations yet, on account of this base not being meant to house mercenaries for too long, but with Scout and Engineer’s help with cutting up old magazines, Bonnie managed to cover the bottom bunk’s wall with cutouts of horses, unicorns, Barbies, and other more feminine pictures that they fell in love with. Mundy smiles at the memory, glad that his sibling has something to make them feel better in this new place. Engineer had offered to get him some cutout pictures too, but the Australian had declined the offer, on the grounds that he didn’t need any. After all, if the adults end up throwing him out, that’ll be less of a mess to clean up once he’s gone. Silently, Mundy climbs up the ladder towards his bed, lying down to daydream.

However, he soon falls asleep instead, too exhausted by his doctor’s appointment and guilt to stay awake any longer.

* * *

The sun beginning it’s descent back into the desert is what wakes Mundy up, the boy biting back a wince as oranges rays from the sunset seep in through the blinds and hit him directly in the face. By the queen, how long was he out? Last he checked, it was around three or so when he got out of Medic’s office, so he must’ve been out for at least a few hours. Sitting up, Mundy let's out a loud, tired yawn, something that honestly shocks him, as he’s had way too much sleep over the course of the last few days. Medic attributes it to him still recovering from the crash, Engineer attributes it to stress, Spy attributes it to him not getting enough sleep to begin with, and Mundy himself attributes it to pure laziness, not that he bats an eye when either of his siblings do the exact same thing by sleeping in or napping. Sluggishly, the preteen pulls himself out of bed, holding the bars of the ladder leading down from the top bunk in a deathgrip, half scared he’ll lose his footing and fall if he doesn’t. To Mundy’s relief, he isn’t so tired that he can’t pull his weight, and soon enough he’s standing alone in his bedroom… at least, that’s what he thought, as before he can so much as move for the door, he feels a hand grab his shirt. He yelps louder than intended, whipping around to see who grabbed him, only to see Bonito bundled up under the covers of their own bed, one of their hands holding Mundy’s shirt rather gently to get his attention. The older child gives him a sheepish smile, raising their hands in mock surrender in order to apologize without words for spooking him.

“It’s fine, mate,” Mundy promises, though he knows it to be a lie. “What’re ya doin’ in ‘ere? You wantin’ a nap too, Bon?”

Bonito nods, quick to snatch up one of their many notebooks; this one is the same brand as Engineer’s notebooks, so it’s likely that the repairman gave it to them as a gift. The thought brings a smile to Mundy’s face, the boy relieved that his best friend is being treated so well here. Inside the booklet, Bonnie scribbles out a message, handing it to Mundy once they’re done. “[Yeah, I’ve been really tired lately; Engie says it’s because I’m still getting used to living here. I’m guessing that’s why you took a nap too? You seem like you’ve been  _ really  _ tired lately.]”

Mundy shrugs halfheartedly, deciding to plop himself down beside Bonito on the bottom bunk. “I guess so, yeah… not like I need the extra rest, though. I think I’m just lazy.”

There’s a pause, before Bonnie gives Mundy another note. “[Do you think  _ I’m  _ lazy, Mundy?]”

Mundy sputters, realizing his slip-up. “I-I don’t mean you’re lazy for restin’, mate! It’s just that I, uh…” He trails off, glancing at his feet as he wonders whether or not he should talk to Bonito about this… but if anyone will hear him out without turning on him, it’s them. “Look, Bonnie, after we left dat shithole last month, I knew there was Buckley’s chance we’d make it outta there in one piece… but we did, ‘n after dat, I knew I had to take good care ‘a us, ‘specially once we found the ankle biter. So even though dese folks are awful bloody nice to us, dey might not be forever, so I gotta stay vigilante, so dat once they finally snap ‘n try ta hurt us, I can be ready ta get us outta ‘ere!”

Bonito looks visibly uncomfortable with Mundy’s explanation. Quick as a whip, they scribble out a response, their handwriting sloppy from rushing to get the message out. “[But I’m older than you, Mundy! Please, you don’t have to treat yourself so badly just to keep me and Johnny safe. It’s safe here already, I just know it is!]”

“But what if it  _ isn’t?”  _ Mundy asks, frustrated that Bonio isn’t getting the message. “Bonnie, I love ya more den anythin’ on this earth, but come on, ya can’t jus’ trust  _ everybody  _ we meet! Ya really think all these mercenaries are good people? Dat dey won’t clobber us if we piss ‘em off?”

“[Yes,]” Bonnie answers, no hesitation in their written delivery. “[Mundy, I’ve met a  _ lot  _ of people in my life; good, bad, and everything in-between. These people, they’re  _ not  _ bad! They may do bad _ things, _ yes, but they aren’t bad  _ guys. _ If anything, I think they’re a lot better than most of the people I’ve come across (save for you, of course <3)! I know it’s hard, Mundy, but please know that this place, it’s good, and we’re gonna be safe here! John and I have both been having an awesome time, and I know you will too, so long as you give these people a chance. Won’t you try?  _ Please? _ For  _ me, _ Mun-Bun?]” As they finish the note, they shoot Mundy their best attempt at puppy-dog eyes to date.

Mundy has every intention of turning them down- hell, he even considers bringing them back to earth with a serious reality check- but once he sees those big, brown eyes… son of a slogger, he’s never been able to say no to that face. “…I  _ guess  _ I can give it a try,” He mutters, trying to sound stubborn still, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But if somethin’ bad happens, don’t say I didn’t warn ya!”

Bonito beams at this, launching themselves forward to hug Mundy, who simply smiles, always secretly up for a hug from the excitable mute. Once they’ve had their fill, the older child leans back again, smirking almost deviously at the boy, before they hold up a sticky note, looking to be a message they wrote down earlier. “[I like your glasses; they make you look like a frog!]”

Mundy pulls a face, squinting at Bonnie with a short glare. “Mate, that’s awful rude ‘a you ta say,” He says, though his voice holds no anger or vindication. Now wearing his own venomous smirk, he tries retaliating. “Well, if  _ I’m  _ a frog, den  _ you  _ must be a fuckin’ koala, what with dat pudge ‘a yours.” To demonstrate, he pokes Bonito’s slightly rounder belly.

Bonito giggles, pushing Mundy’s hand away, but this only causes the boy to poke them again, which inevitably leads to a halfhearted pushing match, which leads to the two children tackling each other to the floor, tickling and poking in a mock fight. They have zero intention of harming each other with this little game, the two just playful and teasing, but it still reminds Mundy of those first few days they were on the road together, and finally had the chance to play around like kids their age should. In the detention center, there was no such thing as playing games or having recess, only classes, punishments, and the occasional meal between the two. Life was so much harder and crueler back then, sometimes Mundy can hardly believe it’s over, but… it  _ is. _ He’s free, and so is Bonnie, the two of them allowed to live the lives they want, without the threat of unkind adults waiting for an excuse to beat them senseless looming over their heads. After only a few minutes of play fighting, it ends in a rather sluggish and lazy fashion, both kids sprawled out on the floor in a sweaty heap, exhausted after so much physical activity. Before Mundy can stand up, intending on trying to convince Bonnie to draw with him until bedtime, he hears the door open, and before he can so much as breathe, John screams a warcry, running and throwing him onto the pile, going elbow-first for the maximum amount of damage.

“Hiya!” John screams, loud and feral as he crashes directly onto Mundy’s abdomen.

Mundy gives an unwelcome screech when John hits him, the blow knocking all of the air out of his lungs. Bonito, in the meantime, scowls viciously at the youngest boy, who just smirks with satisfaction, happy to have gotten the drop on his elders.

“Impressed, Private Bonito?” John asks, not sensing that Bonnie’s mad at him for an entirely different reason than jealousy. “Take notes, for you should always be ready to ambush an enemy when they’re down or distra-” He doesn’t get to finish.

Within seconds, Bonito is up on their feet, and before John can make a break for it- not that he would, seeing as he’s oblivious to the real issue here- the older child picks him up by his ankles, holding him upside down with very little effort on their part.

John, in the meantime, grins. “Very good work, soldier! Smart of you to get the drop on me while I was giving a victory speech, but for the sake of learning something new, maybe wait until I’m finished next-” Again, he isn’t allowed much time to talk, as without warning, Bonito shakes him vigorously up and down, forcing the child soldier to hold onto his helmet by the straps to keep it on.  _ “AH!  _ Private Bonito, there’s no need for that! Stop!  _ Uncle!” _ John begs, but he gets no such mercy, Bonnie choosing to shake him like a snowglobe.

“Oi, Bonnie, dat’s enough, mate!” Mundy orders, scrambling to at least pull himself to his knees. He struggles to speak at first, still coughing incessantly from having his abdomen elbowed with such force. “Come on, ya heard the lil’ brat; he said uncle!”

“Yes! Uncle, uncle,  _ uncle!” _ John repeats, now just a blur from how much Bonnie’s shaking him.

Bonito huffs, and unceremoniously, they drop the boy, John landing on his head with a loud  _ ‘wham’  _ from his helmet hitting the hardwood floor, leaving a massive indent from the blow. Before anyone can so much as speak, there’s frantic thumping from down the hall, and within seconds, the door swings open, a frazzled Engineer now standing in the doorway. “I heard a crash!” He says, goggle-covered eyes wide as he scans the room, not sure who to be worried about first. “What in tarnation are you lil’ ones gettin’ up to in ‘ere, huh? Sounds like you’re tryin’ ta dig ta China in ‘ere!”

“We can…  _ do  _ that?” John asks, disoriented as he tries to collect himself, but the poor kid can’t even stand up, too dizzy from Bonito shaking him so hard. “Is China…  _ close  _ to Russia? The home… of communism?” Dear god, he sounds close to losing his lunch… or dinner; depends on what time it is.

“No,” Engineer lies, as he knows John has the drive to start digging if he thinks it’ll get him any closer to killing communists. Turning to Mundy, the handyman gives him a concerned look. “Mind explain’ what’s goin’ on in ‘ere, partner?” He knows the Australian is his best bet for answers, as he’s the most sane of the RV kids who can talk openly to him.

“Yes, sir,” Mundy says, wincing as he finally sits up, one hand on the floor to steady him, the other rubbing at his tummy to sooth it. “Bonnie ‘n I was havin’ a mock biffo, when Johnny came in ‘n tried ta join in on the fun… suppose it got too rough. Sorry for the noise, sir.” He purposely leaves out how he got injured and how his best friend damn near made John’s brain into a smoothie, as he doesn’t want them to get in trouble.

Engineer just sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. “Kids these days, always playin’ like wild animals… well, I suppose if no one’s hurt, it’s fine,” He moves to leave, but pauses, remembering something. “Oh right, I was on my way ta tell ya somethin’,” He says, giving Mundy a small smile. “Heavy told me ta tell you you’re needed in the kitchen, Mundy.”

“The kitchen? For what?” Mundy asks, confused. Why would  _ Heavy  _ want to see him?

“That’s for me to know and you ta find out,” Engineer gives away no secrets, shrugging with a suspicious smirk on his face. As Mundy gets up and starts to walk past him out the door, the handyman ruffles his hair, shooting him a wink. “See ya around, junior.” He says, leaving before the Australian can say anything.

Mundy huffs, rolling his eyes at Engineer’s babying. He then flashes Bonito and John a look, privy to the fact that the older kid is fixing the soldier with a deadly glare. “I’m bailin’,” Mundy says, drawing the attention of his friends. He fixes them with a stern glare, crossing his arms for good measure. “Don’t go killin’ each other while I’m gone, alroight? If I have ta bury you two bludgers, I’m only diggin’ one grave, so if you don’t wanna be cuddlin’ in the afterlife, ya better not beat each other senseless.”

Bonito and John share a look, the latter giving Mundy a toothy grin and salute. “Of course, Private Mundy!” He shouts, still believing that they were just playing. “Though, I must say, Private Bonito is getting very good at their combat training!”

“Yeah, well, no need ta be trainin’  _ too  _ hard,” Mundy mutters, going along with it for the sake of avoiding an argument. “Dat goes for you too, Bonnie; don’t go shakin’ Johnny like he’s a coke again, ya got dat? Don’t need no blood stains all over the damn place.”

Bonnie huffs, but nonetheless nods in agreement. With that settled, the middle child is off, making a beeline for the kitchen. On his way, he passes by a clock, where he sees that it’s roughly half past six. He really  _ did  _ sleep for awhile… Mundy sighs, shaking his head in defeat; he’ll just have to do more work tomorrow. Although he hasn’t been told to do any chores yet, the twelve year old has still made an effort to not only clean up after himself, but clean up in general, oftentimes doing the dishes before anyone else can do them. This gets varying reactions, with Spy and Engineer praising him for being so responsible, and Heavy and Demoman telling him it’s not his job to clean up after them, and that he doesn’t have to do chores unless they specifically ask him to do them. This honestly confuses Mundy, who doesn’t understand why they aren’t making him do all the work, and then get surprised when he does. Isn’t that what kids are  _ for?  _ Sure, his folks didn’t make him do many chores, other than occasionally helping Dad clear the yard of weeds and assist Mum with the cooking, but here, no one tells him to do anything but be safe, and not go outside without them present! It’s so strange, and despite the adults regularly telling him that it’s normal, Mundy thinks their behavior is anything but. Are  _ all  _ mercenaries like this? He has a feeling they aren’t.

Before he can reach a real conclusion to his troubles, Mundy reaches the main kitchen in the base, as the only other two are small and rarely used. Right away, the boy finds Heavy sitting at the kitchen table, the Russian giving him a wide, kind smile when he sees him. “Ah, hello little one!” He greets, even throwing in a wave for good measure. “Have not seen in many hours… you have not eaten, yes?”

Mundy bites back a grimace. He is indeed very hungry, but if the team has already had dinner, he isn’t going to ask for food. “Um… not really, sorry.” He lies, hoping the man will buy it.

Heavy pouts, his expression one of disappointment. “Do not lie to Heavy… you are growing boy; growing boys must eat much food! Would know, needed many meals as little one.”

“Well, I don’t wanna bother ya none, so it’s fine,” Mundy insists, still not wanting to trouble the mercenary. “‘Sides, if I’m too lazy ta get my arse outta bed, I shouldn’t be expectin’ special treatment or encouragement.”

“Is not bad, to take naps,” Heavy assures, tone softer now, much like Medic’s was earlier, though his doesn’t sound quite as professional. “Sleep is needed for growing boy as well… no shame in getting rest. Please, let Heavy get you proper food, before starvation.” He stands up, making for the cupboards.

“Really, mate, it ain’t a big deal!” Mundy repeats, running to get in Heavy’s way and stop him from reaching his destination.

“Neither is this,” Heavy says, and before the boy can say anything else, he scoops Mundy up, sets him in one of the kitchen’s many seats, and walks over to the cupboards hanging over the kitchen’s countertops, beginning to shuffle through their contents for something good. “What would Mundy like? Sandvich? Soup? Other foods?”

Mundy is too busy being a blushing mess to answer, so upon not getting a response, Heavy simply shrugs and figures it out himself, though the child doesn’t pay much attention to whatever he’s making, too preoccupied with his racing thoughts. Why is Heavy so concerned about him eating? Mundy was lazy by not getting out of bed in time for dinner, therefore he should be punished by not having dinner tonight. It’s not like he would starve or anything, he would just have to wait until brekky tomorrow morning to eat; it wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone awhile without eating, and certainly not the longest. Sighing, Mundy chooses not to argue with Heavy over this, as that would most certainly test the man’s patience, and he isn’t about to risk anything, not when he’s probably already on thin ice for questioning him. He must be in so much trouble, the Russian is only being nice out of pity… will Medic take away his glasses if he hears how disobedient he’s been? The thought genuinely frightens Mundy, as he doesn’t want to lose his glasses so soon after getting them, but like all things he owns, they must be a privilege, and privileges can be taken away at any time. Eventually, while Heavy is still cooking something on the stovetop and Mundy is still lost in his thoughts, Medic comes shuffling into the kitchen, an empty mug in one hand and a folder in the other. The doctor smiles when he sees the kid, but the boy quickly breaks eye contact, looking away in shame and mild fear.

Medic grimaces, confused by the reaction. “Hm? Vat is zis? Not happy to see your faforite doctor?” He asks, wearing a goofy smile to try and raise Mundy’s spirits, but the kid continues to look away, shoulders tense with unease. Still stumped, Medic looks to Heavy for help. “Vat happened viz him, Heafy? Did someone make jokes about his Brille?”

Heavy shakes his head. “No, Doctor… little one is frustrated.” He states, hardly even looking up from his cooking.

Medic glances around Heavy to see what he’s up to, smirking when he sees his handiwork. “Makink Suppe? I can only hope you vill hafe some leftofer for me as vell!”

Heavy huffs, but there’s a sly smile on his face. “Perhaps… sit with little one, will be done very soon.” He orders, all while adding another can of soup to the pot for Medic.

Medic nods, gently taking a seat across the table from Mundy, who’s made an effort to simply fiddle with one of the holes in his vest instead of speaking. Unfortunately for him, that catches the doctor’s interest rather quickly. “Your Weste has many tears, does it not? Alzough my profession is medicine, I am more zen capable of mendink your Weste! Vould you like me to?”

“No!” Mundy says, clutching his vest for dear life. He’s quick to realize his mistake though, scrambling to apologize. “Um, s-sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to yell none, I jus’… it don’t need no fixin’, I don’t think. Cheers, though.”

Medic pulls a face, obviously concerned, but he ultimately chooses not to comment, instead setting the folder he’d brought with him on the table and spreading it’s contents across the table, looking them over with great concentration. Though he doesn’t mean to snoop, Mundy can’t help but glance at one of the nearby sheets, only to discover that it’s written in a language he isn’t that familiar with. Is this… is this  _ German? _ It would make sense, seeing as Medic is very obviously German, and regularly drops words and phrases in his native tongue. Luckily for him, Mundy isn’t entirely unused to the language, having lived with at least one German speaker during his time in foster care. He didn’t live there long enough to start speaking the language, especially since the girl who spoke it also spoke in fairly fluid English, but he picked up just enough words to understand when German is being used. He didn’t read it ever, but from syllables and phrasing alone, Mundy can tell it’s German he’s looking at. As he’s squinting at the paper- though really, it’s unnecessary now that he has glasses, but old habits are hard to break- he hears a chuckle from nearby. Glancing up from his attempt at translating a language he can’t even speak, Mundy’s eyes meet with Medic’s, the doctor smirking at him from behind the safety of his mug of freshly brewed coffee, the man obviously entertained by his snooping.

Immediately, Mundy blushes, averting his eyes to avoid anymore embarrassment. “Sorry for snoopin’, Doc,” He says, embarrassed to have been caught. “I swear, I can’t even read it none, so no drama, roight?”

Medic chuckles again, much to Mundy’s shame. “Are your glasses workink correctly?” He asks, trying to change the subject to save the boy’s dignity.

Mundy puts on a loose smile for the sake of showing his appreciation. “Uh, yeah, they’re a real beauty, Doc,” He states, his smile becoming more honest as he remembers that he had no trouble reading Bonito’s notes from earlier. “Cheers again for makin’ ‘em for me… ya really didn’t have to, but I really appreciate it.”

“Of course I had to, Mundy,” Medic deadpans, his smile dropping as concern fills his eyes. “Vhy do you keep actink like zis, Kinder? Do you beliefe zat you are undeserfink of nice zinks? Of anyzink? Kinder, eferyone vho is in need of glasses should hafe access to zem, zeir are no ifs and or buts about it.”

“But… I can still see without ‘em,” Mundy points out, not understanding why Medic isn’t reminding him that he oughta behave if he wants to keep his glasses; it would be a great time to exercise his authority, and yet he won’t. Why is that? “I mean, now I can read much bloody better, but it ain’t like I’ll be blind ‘r nothin’!”

“But readink vould be made much more divvicult for you to accomplish vithout zem,” Medic says, his worry only growing. “Mundy, vhy hold such standards for yourselv?” He pauses for a moment, thinking, before he asks the boy another question. “If Bonito needed glasses, do you beliefe zey should be gifen to zem?”

“‘A course!” Mundy replies, not missing a beat. “Bonnie needs ta write to communicate proper, so it wouldn’t be right ta not let ‘em read!”

Medic nods, continuing with his questions. “So, say if avter Bonnie receifes zeir glasses, zey misbehafed in some vay? Should zeir glasses be taken avay, efen zough zey need zem?”

Mundy shakes his head. “No, ‘cus they’re a necessity…” He trails off, catching onto what the doctor is trying to say, but it isn’t enough to make him agree with the man. “But Doc, I don’t  _ need  _ ta read none! Sure, it’s nice to, but it ain’t a necessity like it is for Bonnie!”

Medic looks ready to sigh out of frustration, but he persists in order to get his message across more clearly. “It is a necessity vor you as _ vell,  _ Kinder!” He insists, his patience beginning to wane. “Vat if you could not read Bonito’s messages? You are zeir closest friend, and it vould be divvicult vor zem to communicate vithout you zere to act as a, how do zey say…  _ middle man, _ zat’s it!”

“But everyone else can read; I don’t  _ gotta  _ translate for ‘em!” Mundy knows he’s partially lying, since sometimes a notebook and writing utensil isn’t available to Bonito… but John can understand them too, right? Well, no, only when they mumble, and they can’t always do that… frustrated, Mundy sits back in his seat, feeling tears in his eyes from how upset he’s getting. “I… I guess I  _ do  _ sometimes gotta say stuff for dat big cobber… but den I should jus’ get the sunnies back when it’s necessary, roight? Dey could still be taken away if I was actin’ like a mongrel.”

“Nein!” Medic snaps, but he’s more exasperated than angry. “Du nimmst mich auf den Arm; do you  _ truly  _ beliefe you are to be treated in such a terrible vay? Zat you must be punished for simply beink Kinder?”

“Well, no, I don’t think I should be punished for everythin’,” Mundy says, leaning away as he hears Medic finally lose his patience; this is it, he’s about to get it really bad, so he oughta shapen up and apologize so it won’t cripple his ability to work tomorrow. “I’m really sorry, sir, deadset. I jus’… I’m a guest ‘ere, ain’t I? I gotta have rules ‘n chores, ‘r what’s the point in keepin’ me around? I gotta be useful, don’t I? I gotta make it up to yous for treatin’ me so good, or I’ll just be lookin’ like a bloody wombat.”

Medic let’s out a long, tired sigh, before he softens, giving Mundy such a  _ look…  _ it’s full of frustration and concern, the emotions so different, but still tied together in this instance. “Kefin,” He whispers, using Mundy’s first name for once. He stands up, and the boy braces himself to be hit, but instead Medic sits down in the seat closest to the child, and very gently, he lays a hand on Mundy’s shoulder, as if to remind him that he’s real. “Kefin, you are  _ not  _ a guest here… you are a Kinder, and Kinder are not to be workink or beaten, zey are to be playink and hafink a good childhood. I am sorry zat you cannot hafe a perfectly normal childhood in zis place, but please, do not make it any harder on yourselv. Please, Mundy, let ze adults handle ze harder zinks, such as var and most of ze chores, and just hafe a good life. You don't hafe to trust us right avay- no one can be made to do such zinks- but please, know zat you are safe here, and zat I shall not allow any harm to come to you or your siblinks, are you understandink me? You are not a slafe or pet; you are Kinder, and you are important. If no one has told you zat before, please, let me be ze one to tell you zat you are good, and zat you do not need to repay  _ any  _ of us for anyzink. Okay?”

Despite having a history of crying when he hears such emotional speeches, Mundy just barely manages not to this time around, though his eyes do fill to the brim with tears. He gives a shaky, scared nod, as he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Luckily for him, Medic takes no issue with this, the doctor able to read his expression enough to know how he feels. Moments later, Heavy finishes with the soup, bringing it over with three bowls and spoons. The doctor is quick to clean up his paperwork, having to stand up in order to lean across the table and collect it all, and once he’s done, he shuffles all of the papers back into his folder and puts it on an empty counter nearby, giving him nothing to do but talk and eat at the table. While Medic’s up, Heavy steals his seat beside Mundy, setting the stack of bowls and the soup pot in the middle of the table. The tank of a man fills one of the bowls to the brim, which makes the Australian suspect it’s for Heavy, but to his shock, the older man sets the bowl in front of the boy, meaning it’s for him instead. Mundy’s eyebrows furrow at this, especially when it’s revealed that when Medic returns to the table- he sends his friend a short glare for taking his spot, muttering something that sounds rude and probably in German as he takes one of the other seats, this one on the other side of Mundy- he and Heavy have smaller portions than him.

But… that doesn’t make _ sense!  _ The man of the house- or men, in this place’s case- always gets the first and biggest meal, while the sheila and the ankle biters go next, taking whatever is left over for them. Dad was always generous, leaving plenty of food for his wife and adoptive son, but he still always went first, and it would’ve been odd for him not to. Mundy looks around in confusion, searching the other men’s eyes for answers, but they just smile at him, expressions full of affection, and were that not enough to make him feel cared about, Heavy pauses his eating to ruffle Mundy’s hair. It’s as if he knows why the Australian is stumped, and this way of saying that it’s okay if he eats first, that it’s okay if he gets more food, because like he said earlier, he’s a kid and he’s growing, and that’s okay. All at once, this is what sets Mundy over the edge. It wasn’t John trying to tell him that the RV crash wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t Bonnie telling him that it’s safe for him to let his guard down, it wasn’t Medic telling him that he should focus on being a kid; it was Heavy giving him such a big meal, alongside the reassurance that he’s cared about. Whimpering very quietly under his breath, Mundy begins to cry, tears dripping down his face and falling to the table, getting the laminated wood damp without his consent.

Wordlessly, Medic pats his shoulder while Heavy uses a clean tissue to wipe his face, much like a far too clucky mother would. “It is okay, little one,” The Russian promises, voice low and warm, like a campfire that’s barely smoldering. “Eat your fill; you need much strength, if you are to grow big and strong like Heavy.”

Mundy nods, his tears refusing to stop, but he still doesn’t speak or wail, simply picking up his spoon and chowing down on his soup, though he’s mindful not to make a mess of himself or the table. Over dinner, Medic and Heavy speak in a hybrid mix of German, Russian, and English, of which Mundy only catches one or two words every few minutes, but it’s fine. It’s okay. He’s safe here, somehow, and for whatever reason, that scares him shitless. More often than not, the boy has heard people compare life to an ocean, but in this moment it feels more like a city, in which he has only known the jungle, and is now forced to navigate these skyscrapers and suburbs by himself. Most people along the streets sneer at him and turn him away, or worse, they actively sabotage his chances at surviving, stealing his food and kicking him when he’s down. But these mercenaries… they’re like kind strangers, unknown and intimidating at a glance, but when they see his ragged clothes and scared face, they offer him warm meals and endless comfort, wanting nothing more than to see him be well. And Heavy and Medic, despite being an odd pair, despite Heavy being hard to understand sometimes, despite Medic laughing too much when he’s nervous, they’re like his folks, and Mundy is drawn to them, wanting the comfort and love he had back then, even if he’s scared to be that vulnerable again.

Deep down, he’s scared, and Mundy knows he’ll probably never stop being completely scared, but these people, these mercenaries… they make him feel like the fear and pain can go away, and that even if it doesn’t, that it can be worthwhile. Medic and Bonito are right; he doesn’t have to trust these strangers right away, and he’s not going to, but he can certainly give it a try, especially for people like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very emotional ending, but I’m listening to “Becky and Jeff Forever” by McCafferty on repeat and that song tends to bring out the incredibly sad but hopeful side of me. Was this a satisfying conclusion to this fic? I certainly hope so, ‘cus I wanna get started on the next fic for this series ASAP (though, I’ve gotta admit, I’m gonna miss writing from Mundy’s POV; I’m really starting to love this little dude)! Anyways, thanks so much for reading this fic, and if you have the time, please check out this poll and vote for whichever idea you like best: https://www.opinionstage.com/supertheodore/which-fic-idea-should-i-use-first-for-the-tf2-kids-au

**Author's Note:**

> And here we fucking go, right back into spamming people with this AU… oh well, I’m having fun, and that’s enough for me! Liking this AU/fic so far? Then please comment if you’ve got the time, ‘cus it really makes my day when people do! Have an awesome day, y’all!


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